Seeds of Discord: A Wonder Woman and Captain America Crossover
by kbj1123
Summary: This is a sequel (by request!) to "Wonders Never Cease." Someone or something is causing violent riots to erupt all over the U.S., wreaking havoc with both Wonder Woman's health and Bruce Banner's ability to keep his rage in check. No rights to the characters; limited knowledge of DC/Marvel universes; LOVE (kind/helpful) feedback. MA stuff throughout; esp ch 5, 7, 18, 25, 28 so far
1. Chapter 1

It is the first Saturday of December, and Steve truly cannot remember ever being so happy this close to Christmas. Diana and he have been home from their honeymoon for about a week. A few blocks from their apartment is a renovated movie theater. There is a series this month; each week a different Christmas movie from 1930-1950. He wants Diana to see the kinds of things he's been brought up on, maybe work towards creating their own holiday traditions. She's for it. "Ritual is an important part of the spiritual well-being for the individual and society," she told him. He figures that's close enough. Tonight's feature is "Beyond Tomorrow (And So Goodbye)," which he actually saw when it was released in 1940. They take their seats toward the back of the crowded theater, and life is good. Life is good for about an hour. Then they hear gunshots and terrified screams outside the theater. Diana rushes out the back of the theater and moments later, Wonder Woman is in the thick of things. Steve is close behind, in his civilian identity.

It is an all-out riot. "Gangs are unheard of in this part of town," Steve remarks. He and Wonder Woman spot a man with an assault rifle. Wonder Woman shoves Steve out of the way with one arm and deflects a round of ammunition with her other arm. She dives and tackles him. He doesn't let go of the weapon. She manages to get a hand on each end and bends the whole thing into a useless piece of metal.

Unfortunately, this young man isn't the only armed person in the crowd, and she feels another stream of bullets fly past her head just as she hears Steve yell, "Behind you, Wonder Woman!" She whips around and grabs the barrel of another assault rifle, yanking it out of another young man's hands. She slams it to the sidewalk and it cracks down the middle.

As Wonder Woman deflects and disarms the shooters, Steve moves bystanders out of the way. He roundhouse kicks two more men as they aim into the crowd. The streets are narrow here. This area of town has been recently gentrified, and most of the streets are of the narrow, one-way traffic variety, with wide sidewalks and streetlights meant to mimic gaslight. There isn't much room for bystanders, and most of them don't seem to want to leave. This puts Steve in the awkward position of having to push and grab people out of the way of flying bullets and fists, without hurting them in the process.

The fact that it has been snowing and sleeting for the past forty-five minutes is not helping. Steve pushes a teenage girl out of the way of a fired gun, sending her sliding into the street toward an oncoming car. Wonder Woman jumps in front of the car and pushes all her weight into it as it fishtails on the slippery pavement, stopping the vehicle just a few inches away from the girl. The heavy-set middle-aged man behind the wheel slams his door open and hollers, "What the FUCKING HELL?" He slams the door and storms over to the car to inspect the grill. He makes a motion to kick the girl out of the way, but Wonder Woman intervenes. She firmly places her hand on his face and says "Stop. Get in the car, and stay there until this is all over." He looks confused for a moment, and then complies with the command.

Steve's efforts to save people from the violence and confusion have been only partially successful. Bystanders become angry with him for moving them, and with each other for…he can't even really tell. Being in each other's' way? Fist fights begin. And then…nothing. The chaos dies down just before the police cars and paramedics show up.

Wonder Woman talks with the authorities. Within fifteen minutes of the first gunshots, the entire street is quiet. Wonder Woman and Steve stand alone on the sidewalk. They stare out at the blood-streaked snow, saying nothing. They both wonder what just happened here; what might have happened had they not been in the right place at the right time. The broken glass and debris, the crime scene tape cordoning off the block are a stark contrast to the festive lights blinking over buildings. Wonder Woman shivers. Steve is just about to take her hand when they hear a young girl's tentative voice. "Excuse me, are you Captain America?"

It is the teenager Steve had shoved out of the way during the gun fight. "Yeah. Hey, I'm really sorry about earlier." She blushes and turns to Wonder Woman. "My name's Nancy Tanner. I'm such a big fan of yours. She hands Steve her phone. "Would it be okay to get a picture? I mean, I know this is a really bad time but…yeah, actually it's not a good time." Wonder Woman sighs. "It's fine. Let's not in front of all this damage, though." They walk to the sidewalk in front of a diner. Steve snaps a photo as the girl throws her arms around Wonder Woman and thanks her for saving her life, twice. "What was it you did to that man, anyway," she asks. Wonder Woman smiles. "Magic," she replies. The girl looks at her, slightly awestruck. "Oh, she says, turning back to Steve. I took some pictures of the whole thing, and some videos. Where can I send them?" Steve e-mails the pictures to a public address used for SHIELD informants and hands her back her phone. She stares at him for a second or two longer than necessary, and blushes again. "It's a good thing your wife's not here. I mean, that she's safe and stuff. She's really pretty." Steve smiles. "That she certainly is. I'll tell her you said so." Nancy looks down at her feet. "She's really lucky, too," she says quietly, and then, clearly embarrassed, takes off.

They stay a few moments longer, and then, with Diana in her civilian identity again, they make their way back home.

"Aren't you cold," Steve asks, shutting Director Fury's door behind him. Despite the unseasonably frigid December, Director Fury's office window is wide open. "I've learned to live with it whenever Wonder Woman is here for any reason," he replies. Steve sinks into a chair and sighs. "Do you want me to go after her, sir?"

This is the third time in two weeks that Diana has caught sight of the woman she's nicknamed "Eris," and taken off. The woman has been at every riot in the DC/Metro area, in which Diana has intervened. From the street below, the two men hear the angry mob reach its full energetic potential. In a few seconds there will be police sirens. This is what the mysterious new threat does: creates discord. "We need to figure out this person's end-game. What does she want? Who does she work for?" Fury had asked the Avengers last week. The best answer they have is that she seeks destruction and chaos for its own sake: the more people burned in the process, the better. Now there is gunfire and screaming. Steve runs to look out the window in time to see Wonder Woman deflect a flurry of ammunition from the crowd. She tackles the shooter to disarm him, and then looks to assist the injured until the police and paramedics arrive. Then she stalks away angrily. She has missed another opportunity to intercept a culprit whose very presence incites pandemonium.

A few seconds later, Wonder Woman flies back into Director Fury's office, closes the window behind her, and walks to the other side of the desk to stand by Steve. She seems to have recovered from her frustration. Steve figures she's satisfied that no one was seriously hurt this time. "Hi," she says breezily, and gives his hand a squeeze. She smiles and takes a seat. "What were you saying, Director?"

Fury stands up, closes the window, and leans over his desk. "What I was saying was you can't keep flying off like a damned loose cannon every time you think something's about to happen. We have police for that. Steve clears his throat. Fury knows he doesn't like it when people curse in front of women—especially not his wife. This isn't the time to bring it up, because he knows the argument is coming. Fury's thrown the pitch right over the plate, and here comes Diana's swing:

"If the police aren't there, it's my duty to help. What is the point of having powers and position if not to come to the aid of people?" The argument flies straight down center field.

"It would be ALMOST acceptable if you would actually try to capture the wrongdoer." Fury fields the argument and throws it to first.

"And leave without knowing whether someone has been hurt? What if I needed to fly someone to the hospital?" Diana easily sprints to second base.

"Then paramedics would have taken care of it. Not. Your. Job." Steve wonders, not for the first time, why Director Fury keeps taking the bait.

"What is the point of saving the world if not for the people in it?" She goes to steal third.

"OUT!" Fury exclaims. "Uh, Sir? You actually had called us in here about the mob scene the other night…"

"BOTH OF YOU, GET OUT OF MY OFFICE NOW!" Sometimes rules just get in the way of a satisfying win—or of getting much accomplished at all, really.


	2. Chapter 2

"Don't you have someone else to spar with? Like maybe, your husband?" Natasha props herself against a wall, breathing heavily.

"I can't spar with Steve, he's too gentle. And the other reason."

Natasha grins. "Yeah, I don't think anyone saw that coming when they originally installed the cameras. Great show while it lasted, though. Even Tony blushed."

Diana thinks about that for a moment. "I will never understand Patriarch's World and its more subtle rules about displays of affection—even though I didn't realize at the time that we were on camera. Besides, that was months ago, and it was just kissing."

"Admit it, Diana," Natasha picks up a quarterstaff and takes a stance. "If Steve hadn't put the brakes on, you wouldn't have stopped. I am astounded that none of it got leaked and ended up on YouTube."

Diana takes a defensive stance and smiles. "It was a spar. I was attempting to disarm him. Footage could have been instructive for other agents."

At that, Natasha relaxes her attack posture and laughs. "It looked more like you were attempting to disrobe than disarm him!"

"I know my opponent well; the attack caught him off-guard, and I um, won," Diana explains with a smirk. Then she shrugs and adds, "To your point, though, we both could have won. But I still believe that you must use all your resources and know what will give you advantage over an opponent." She looks Natasha in the eye. "Just as I know that a distracting conversation works well with my current sparring partner." She takes a flying kick to Natasha, knocking her to the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

She pretends she doesn't see him, but Diana knows Steve is watching her work. She knows he is drawing her as she pours over the printouts of reports she's assembled across three long library tables. She smiles to herself. He thinks he's being clever and surreptitious. "I'm sorry," she finally announces. "I'm about to get up and change your angle." She closes up a few folders and walks to another table, where she adds a few more lines and notes to a complicated chart she's been working on.

Steve sighs and gets up to join her. "You're overthinking it," he tells her. He uses a green pencil to loop another line from one point on her chart to another. "This looks to be the more likely connection. Although, I still think it's a far reach to say one major person or group is responsible for that much chaos. It's too random." He traces a finger along one of Diana's lines linking the bombing of a women's clinic in Massachusetts, four unprovoked violent outbreaks in the DC area, and a race riot in California. "You're letting your imagination get the better of you. I can talk to Director Fury about putting you back on active duty. You just have to promise him you'll follow orders, and quit jumping out his window when he's talking to you."

Diana frowns and shakes her head. "There is something to this—it's the timing. And last time there would have been casualties had I not gotten there in time." She drums her fingers on the table. "If I was a paranoid person, I'd almost think the last three riots were too perfectly-placed and timed, just for me to get involved." She is certain that something catastrophic is just over the horizon. She rolls up her chart and puts it away. "This is giving me a headache. I need air."

Steve smiles at her…at first. "You never get headaches." But then he looks at her more closely. "Actually, you do look a little run down, now that you mention it. Do you want me to take you down to the infirmary?" She shakes her head. "I'm going to meditate with Bruce later. I'm sure I'll feel better after that. You're right. I don't think I have ever been ill. I'm not sure I can even become unwell by natural means on this world." She can see that he is still worried. She stands up and kisses him, which elicits an "aww" from some agents a few tables back. "Let's at least go outside and get you that fresh air," he suggests.

The building's third floor contains an indoor arboretum with a glass roof and walls, and raised flower beds and rock gardens. It is Diana's favorite place to go during the day, and Steve guides her to her favorite spot, a low bench underneath a lemon tree. "Drink this. Stay hydrated," he orders, handing her a water bottle. She doesn't argue. Walking down a few hallways was difficult—as if the atmosphere had been pressing against her. She doesn't try to protest that she's fine.

Thirty minutes later, when Bruce arrives to meet her for meditation, she is still laying in Steve's lap, half-asleep. Steve strokes her hair; she knows he's trying to ascertain whether she has a fever. Bruce points at her and mouths to Steve, "She okay?" She feels Steve shrug. "Hey Diana," Bruce says. How about you let Steve take you to the infirmary and I'll meet you there?" She mumbles something that she hopes sounds like "I'm fine; just give me a few minutes and I'll be fine." "Sounds like a yes to me," Steve decides, and scoops her up in his arms. They take the elevator directly to the infirmary, using an emergency override code to keep it from stopping on other floors.

The next time Diana opens her eyes, she is locked inside a quarantine cell. Outside the cell, the room is in shambles, as if it's been ripped apart. Actually, it looks like the Hulk's been rampaging through. She can hear Steve's voice, and Bruce's…and Phil's and Clint's. Great Hera, who isn't in this room? She forces herself to stand up and raps on the cell's clear wall. Steve helps her out and explains that when Bruce put some electrodes to her head and turned on the EEG, it created an energy surge that caused him to transform into the Hulk, and then all available Avengers and security were called in. "This was the only safe place we could think to put you at the time," he apologizes.

By that evening, Diana feels fine again. She wishes she felt better about having her suspicions validated, though. Who or whatever is causing these riots all over the country is doing it purposefully. Whatever energy source they are using is affecting both her and Bruce. Hypothetically, it causes her pain because senseless violence is the antithesis to her entire reason for creation, and likewise, it intensifies Bruce's anger, almost like flipping a light switch. They'll need Tony and a few other scientists to figure out a safe way to test the idea.

Steve's concerns are more immediate. He watched her more closely than usual through dinner, as if making sure she was nourishing herself. Normally, the feet massage and extra bit of pampering would have been nice, but as far as she is concerned, the crisis, as it were, has passed. "I'm okay now," she assures Steve. She climbs into his lap and kisses him. "See? Stop worrying."

He hugs her tightly and replies "Nope. Never."

"Steve…"

"I'm serious. When you made that contract with Hades last year, that when I died, you'd join me in the afterlife, you assumed that I'd go first. You gave up your immortality, but you still think and act as if you're immortal. What if something out there really is making you sick? What if this turns out to be a fight you shouldn't get involved in? If I lose you in this lifetime Diana…" he trails off, unable to find the right way to phrase the sentiment. "I'm just relieved that you're okay for now, and we have an idea of what's going on."

She scoots closer in and rests her head on his chest. They say nothing for a while, just holding onto one another. She wishes he wouldn't worry so much. She can tell he's sad by the way he is breathing and by the tension in his arms as he hugs her to him. "It was shortsighted and selfish," she says into his heart. I'm not completely sorry I did it, but I should have discussed it with you and thought things through first."

He kisses the top of her head and wipes a tear from her face. "We can't both be crying," he says. "You said it was gonna be really hard to kill you, and I don't plan on going anywhere. Besides, we've got a prophesy to fulfill."

It occurs to her that there is another reason he's feeling so downhearted. "Are you disappointed about something that you're not telling me?"

"I beg your pardon?" But he's turning a shade of pink.

"You though I was pregnant, didn't you?!"

"Um…what's the right answer?"

She smiles widely. "The answer," she begins, and then kisses him, "is that I am not, nor am I sure this is that either of us are ready." She kisses him again and dismounts him. She pulls him to standing, and starts to walk toward the bedroom. "But we can still practice."

He pretends to be exasperated. "Don't you think about anything else? I feel so…so used."

"I do think of other things," she says, reaching around to unzip her dress. She steps out of it and continues, "But I am not at work, nor am I hungry or tired right now. Besides, you like it."

He follows her into the bedroom and tackles her onto the bed. "That liking being used part: was that a description or a demand, Mrs. Goddess?"

"You decide," she teases. "I've had a rough day."


	4. Chapter 4

It is December 22. Diana, Bruce, and Steve are in New Orleans to investigate another riot, this time at a military funeral for Private Andrew Lawler, Pvt., US Army. There had been the usual number of demonstrators for various issues having nothing to do with this man's sacrifice: religious groups protesting his sexual identity, protestors for peace, and protestors to protestors. The result has been that many, more funerals will be had over the next few days.

The yellow crime scene tape sags in the humidity of the church yard. The smell of blood and wet clay pervade the cemetery where the young man should have been laid to rest. Wonder Woman finds pieces of him scattered across a half-dozen plots. She carefully lifts a piece of uniform sleeve from his dismembered arm with a stick, and shakes it a little. A new-looking business card falls from the cuff. "Bruce, Steve? I found something!" The front of the card is bright green, and reads "Jonathan Backus," a phone number, website, and "The Concordance Group." On the back of the card is a penned stick-figure of a man holding a test tube. Next to him is drawn a bulky, monstrous creature. "Well," Bruce says. "It isn't too hard to figure out who this was meant for." He slides it into an evidence bag and packs it away. They spend the afternoon working with police and CSI's to piece together bodies and names. Over a dozen people are dead, and twice as many are wounded. No witnesses remember a man named Backus, but there were so many people today, and chaos happened so very quickly.

The acrid combination of mildew and bleach is ubiquitous here in the damp, Deep South, even in the FBI field office. While tests are run on the business card, Bruce examines the bodies of those identified as perpetrators in the riots: the ones who threw the first punches, lobbed the first projectiles, or shot off the first bullets. Diana and Steve's job is to wait for information and stay in communication with SHIELD. The air in the office room they've been given is thick and chemical. Even opening a window doesn't seem to help, since outside, the air is thick, humid, and polluted. There is no breeze. Diana isn't sure how long she's been staring through the open window. She is startled when Steve hands her a bottle of water and tells her to sit down, drink this. She takes the cold bottle and holds it against her throat instead, and then rolls it across her collar bones. "You're staring," she tells him, even though her eyes are closed.

Steve smirks. "What would you do if the situation was reversed?" Diana ignores him and tilts her chair back, propping her heels on the edge of the desk. "Now you're just teasing me," he says. She isn't though. Diana barely registers what he's saying to her because her temples are throbbing. Her body feels hot from the inside. She takes a few sips of water and then pours the rest over her face and neck. Steve leans in across the desk. "Unfair," he jokes. "I can't even kiss you when you're Wonder Woman.

She wants to flirt back. She wants this to be a precursor for later. Abrupt, overwhelming sadness overtakes her but he can't see the tears, because water is still running down her face. She thinks the dry heat inside of her should make her skin steam. She wonders if the unpleasant squeezing in her stomach is what nausea feels like. Then they hear the sound of shouts from the street below.

Steve grabs his helmet and shield. Using every ounce of strength she has, Wonder Woman steadies herself, scoops Captain America in her arms, and leaps out the window, down to street level. She steadies herself, placing her hand on Cap's shoulder, after she sets him down. There is no time for him to ask if she's okay because about a half-dozen ordinary people have erupted into a fist fight. Wonder Woman sees a man in black running the opposite direction from the fight, seemingly immune to the pull of violence. Cap nods to Wonder Woman, and she takes off after the man.

Within just four blocks, the distance between the two widens. Wonder Woman's whole body throbs in sync with her racing heart. She stops, takes a deep breath, and begins again, focusing on her breath pattern. Once, Tony told her the story of his time as a captive in Afghanistan. He had been severely injured by a blast that left shrapnel in his heart, and somehow, through force of will, managed to escape his captors. She had sympathized, but hadn't really understood what that might be like—moving through that kind of physical pain. It simply wasn't what an immortal with the speed of Hermes himself ever would stop to consider. She pushes on, in pursuit. She sees him turn a corner down a side street. Forget the pain, she tells herself. She clenches her jaw and deepens her breath. It feels as if she is trying to breathe through slightly putrid water. She pumps her arms faster, urging herself on. The distance closes. She takes a flying leap and tackles her prey, sending them both careening into a dead-end that is littered with toppled trashcans and broken glass bottles.

When she returns, the civic authorities are all present: police, paramedics, low-level agents from the FBI building. Steve is speaking with a woman who is wearing a blue sundress. She has long blonde hair and is wearing very red lipstick. She is standing very close to him. She drags her captive along in her lasso and joins them. "Are you okay, Steve?"

Before he can answer, the attractive woman practically coos, "Oh, is that what I should call you? Steve?" She has a thick, Louisiana accent. He blushes. "Captain America or Captain Rogers is fine, ma'am." He turns to Diana. "Wonder Woman this is Miss Sarx. She's an FBI informant who witnessed the fight when it started." Miss Sarx looks Wonder Woman over and wrinkles her nose. "What HAVE you been rolling in?" Wonder Woman smirks, but is otherwise unfazed. "Garbage. With a bad guy."

"Well neither of you look nor smell so good, bless your hearts," she replies. It makes it hard for a lady to think." She offers her arm to Steve. "Is there someplace we can talk?" Steve turns a darker shade of pink, and Diana rolls her eyes. It makes her slightly dizzy again. She takes a moment to get her bearings, and then walks toward the FBI building with her captive. "We'll talk later," she says.

"Bruce, what are you doing in there?" He is locked in a holding cell when Wonder Woman brings the man in black down for lock-up.

"I lost control when the fighting broke out." He looks earnest and embarrassed. The morgue is a mess. I don't think we're going to get any information out of any of the bodies from the churchyard. Diana nods to the guard to unlock the cell, and Bruce and the captive trade places. "I'm really sorry," he tells her. "Not only couldn't I help you and Steve, but I destroyed a whole lot of potential evidence."

"It isn't your fault. I'm just sorry you went through that." She hugs him and he relaxes a little bit. "Thanks," he says. "Where is Steve, anyway?"

Steve joins them about an hour later, looking flustered. "Are you okay?" Diana asks. She has cleaned up, but is still in her Wonder Woman identity, as she has been all day. "I could ask you the same question. Are you feeling sick again?" Diana and Bruce fill Steve in on what he missed. "I'm still a little worn out," Diana admits. "But I'll recover." She can tell that Steve isn't entirely convinced. "We're gonna talk about this more," he informs her.

When the perpetrator, who calls himself Nyx, is brought into the interview room, he smirks at Diana and Bruce, and nods to Steve. "We already know you are part of the Concordance Group," Diana begins, sliding the business card they found on him across the table. "What we want to know about, is this." She slides him a copy of the stick figure drawing on the back of the first card they'd found that morning. Nyx smiles and looks her in the eyes. "Bellum omnium contra omnes." Diana stares back, unblinking. Okay that's great. Is that Concordance's philosophy? War of all against all? Who is in charge? Even in a state of nature, and a poorly conceived one at that, you clearly belong to some organized structure. We want a name."

Steve clears his throat. "Thomas Hobbes," Bruce tells him. He was a seventeenth-century philosopher who believed that in an ungoverned state, all human beings willingly fight each other for survival." He turns to Nyx. "But Hobbes advocated a strong government for that reason. We need more information."

Instead of answering the question, Nyx looks directly at Diana. "You will have to die. You do not belong in this world." He turns to Steve. "You might survive, given the right motivations." Then he rests his gaze on Bruce and smiles. "You are an inspiration: a symbol to us. We should speak alone, you and I. Mr. Backus has an opportunity to offer you."

"Not likely," Steve interjects.

The interview comes to a standstill after that. Finally, Bruce heads back to the morgue to continue salvation efforts while Steve and Diana escort their prisoner back to lockup, for eventual transfer to SHIELD headquarters. When they arrive at the cells, Miss Sarx is waiting for them. She briefly acknowledges Wonder Woman's presence and once again focuses her attentions on Steve. "We meet again, Captain Rogers. Look what I found." She holds up a flat device about the size of a cell phone. What happens when I do this?" She presses her thumb to the center of the screen. Diana collapses. Steve automatically turns to help her and Miss Sarx takes the opportunity to grab the handcuff keys off of a desk and free Nyx, who runs out a nearby fire exit. Steve sticks out his leg and trips Miss Sarx before she can follow, and she lets herself fall against him. She moves her face close to his and says, "You can join me. I can make life so much happier for you. Imagine no rules."

"Sorry," he replies, pinning her hands behind her and reaching for Nyx's abandoned handcuffs. "I'm already happy with my wife."

She pouts. "Rules need to be broken if peace is to emerge," she says. Then she bites the inside of her cheek and collapses. She has no pulse.


	5. Chapter 5

When Diana wakes from her nap in their hotel room, she knows it is late at night. She keeps her eyes closed. Even though the bed is soft and the sheets are cool, New Orleans' dampness clings to her skin. Her stomach is doing strange things again. "Steve?" She meant it to be a question; it comes out as more of a whimper, because she is parched. She hears his footsteps. He's not wearing shoes.

"I'm here sweetheart." He helps her sit up against the pillows, then sits at the edge of the bed and holds a glass of water to her lips. "Drink." She takes a few sips, then waits to see if it makes her feel better, worse, or neither. When she ascertains that it doesn't make her any worse, she takes the glass from him. She takes a few more swallows, and then, just as she did in the field office this afternoon, pours the rest over her face, throat, and chest. She brings her hands to her throat and spreads the icy water over her arms and behind her neck.

"I don't like this, Diana. That device Concordance has been using is making you sick."

She nods. "I must say this is very disagreeable. I feel hot and exhausted, mostly. But we have some information now, and some technology to bring back to SHIELD. And I'm okay. She opens her eyes and sees the worry on Steve's face. "I'm fine," she reiterates, "or at least much better." To prove her point, she slides out of bed. She undresses and stands underneath the ceiling fan in the middle of the room. The breeze feels pleasant on her skin. She sways a little bit and smiles. "This is much better."

"Are you trying to distract me from worrying about you?" He asks. He's completely serious. She looks over at him. "No, but if my standing here under the fan is doing that, it's a good thing." Steve flops down on his back, making the mattress bounce a little bit. He rubs both hands over his face.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm being 'not distracted' by you moving around like that naked, while I'm worried about your health." 

"Really, my love, I feel hot. I'm not feverish; it just feels good to have the breeze from the fan on my body." She stays still for another few seconds, and then walks over to the dresser, where there is a fresh ice bucket. She carries it over to the night stand, taking one cube out to run behind her ears. Then she kneels behind Steve's head. She leans her head over so that her hair brushes along his face. "Have you eaten yet? Are you hungry?"

He keeps his hands cupped over his eyes. "I haven't. And I was…"

"You're upset with me," she states. He uncovers his face and looks up at her. "No, I'm not. I just don't know what to do to make you feel better."

She brushes her hands through his hair and begins to massage his head, starting with his scalp and the nape of his neck. She runs her fingers across his brow, from the center out to his temples, over the bridge of his nose and lightly across his eyelids. She says nothing. They've seen too much violence today; a friend lost control; an ally betrayed them; a prisoner escaped; there was a death. She focuses on compassion and calmness, willing the traits to stream from her heart center through her fingers. Steve's face relaxes into a smile. "Stop that," he warns, after a few seconds.

She bends over to kiss his forehead and then supports herself on her elbow to face him. "Why won't you let me do this for you? Think of it as helping me practice—I've only known about this ability for a few weeks."

He rolls up to a seated position, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs. "In no particular order: number one, because it fatigues you too much. Number two, because I'm not done worrying about you. Number three, because we were talking about making you feel better, not me."

Diana sighs and kisses him.

"You really are warmer than usual," he says. "Here. Lie down on your stomach." He reaches over for the ice bucket and then squats over her and brushes her hair aside. She feels him run an ice cube behind one ear at a time, along the hollow space behind her neck, then across her shoulders, down her spine, all the way to the small of her back, and back up again. When the ice melts, he does it again with a fresh one, and again after that. "How's that," he asks gently.

She answers by sighing, and moans a little bit. "Hmm…divine. You should order dinner or we should head out before things close though."

"Nah," he says. She counters that she's hungry. "Have you lost your appetite?"

He kisses the space between her shoulder blades very lightly. "You've changed my appetite, wife. But absolutely, I'll order something up. Don't think I don't know that you're deflecting your own needs back onto my own though." He kisses the back of her neck and plays with her hair. "What do you want?"

"Some fruit. And more ice. And for you to keep doing what you were doing to my back and shoulders."

He fishes around the bucket, which contains water by now, for another ice cube. When he finds one, he moves it around the outside of her back, along her rib cage, to the outer edges of each breast. He lowers his face closer to hers. "I want you to have some fat, carbs and protein, Diana. You need energy to get better."

It takes her a few moments to reply because the combination of ice and Steve's fingers skimming her skin, the feel of his cotton shorts and t-shirt when he leans over her, and the warmth of the front of her body on the cool sheets is almost overpoweringly hypnotic. It takes an act of will for her to remember that he is absolutely right, that really she doesn't want to eat; she knows he is hungry though. She also knows that he has more control over his arousal than she does, and no one will be happy unless she gives him an answer. She lets him take another run over her breasts and ribs before she finally murmurs, "You're not my mother."

He climbs off of her and frowns. "Hey!" she complains.

"Well that effectively dampened the mood."

She rolls onto her back and smiles. "I'm sorry. Make the call. I promise I'll have a couple of bites of whatever you're getting. But get more ice. And fruit."

As he places the order, she pipes in, "and tell them just to knock and leave it at the door!" When he hangs up, he climbs over her and pins her arms over her head. "You are very bossy, Princess." She wriggles one hand free and reaches into the bucket of cold water for another mostly intact piece of ice. Holding onto one end with her teeth, she moves it over his neck and jaw. He dips down and grabs the other end with his mouth and then takes it from her. When he kisses her, his tongue is cold at first. He cools her and she warms him. "It's my birthright to be bossy," she jokes. He pulls his shirt off and then kicks off his shorts; she dips her hands in the cold water and touches them to his abdomen. He jumps a little. "Not funny!" But he's laughing.


	6. Chapter 6

Everyone is looking at Diana. She looks back at them placidly. "I'm waiting for a question," she states. I am not sure what you want me to say. Director Fury has shown them several news clips featuring the same scene. Wonder Woman mourning over a young pregnant woman who has just been gunned down in front of a women's health clinic in Anacostia. The protest-turned-riot had been deadly, and all around her, smoke rises to the sky, ambulances and paramedics tend to the wounded, and in the background, still, angry, picketers shout. "No," she tells the reporters. "I have no opinion about the loss of this woman's fetus. Its soul will find another body in which to reside. If it had survived into its recent incarnation, there would have been no one to care for it." She is tired. She is more easily put off than usual by the microphones being shoved into her face as she tries to tend to the injured and investigate the scene. "Is it not more problematic that somebody died, and that these violent outbreaks are so frequent?" she asks the reporters.

"You have, in a 15-second sound-bite, effectively politicized SHIELD and the Avengers in ways we do not need right now…or ever," Fury says. There is a staccato quality to his voice that indicates barely—checked anger. He doesn't understand. Or maybe she doesn't understand. This shouldn't be a political issue at all, needless to say a newsworthy story. Even Steve has been quiet so far. Only Natasha has defended her position. She asks, "Did you not just tell me two days ago, that I needed to focus more on the larger issue of what is causing all this violence? Why are we dwelling on an honest answer I gave to a question?"

Fury explains again the difference between personal and public experience and opinion. She can see that he is exasperated with her. "I'm still not swayed," she replies. "What happens to people in public is personal for each individual involved. One's actions stem from her or his personal opinions and perceptions. I will not apologize for stating my point of view." In fact, she is unused to her point of view ever being questioned like this. On Themyscira, she is answerable only to her mother and the gods, and all subjects abide by her Athena-given wisdom in matters of personal conflict. She realizes that SHIELD does not comprise her subjects, but then, Nick Fury and interested politicians are not monarchs or gods. Furthermore, had Hippolyta ever perished in battle while Diana was a child, the entire community would still have loved and cared for her. Here, too many people have no one. The lack of compassion for fellow human beings in Patriarch's World appalls her.

Director Fury informs the team that he doesn't care what their personal beliefs are on the matter; they are all going to be given statements to memorize, backtracking from Wonder Woman's statement, which clearly came from a place of grief and frustration. Furthermore, Wonder Woman would be issuing a public apology. "I will not apologize," she reiterates. "She shouldn't have to apologize," Bruce adds. She's entitled to an opinion, and the more SHIELD bothers itself over this, the more politicized it'll probably get, anyway."

"And she's right," Clint says. "We should really look at the bigger picture here and figure out a plan to get to the source of these attacks. So far we know it's some kind of high-frequency attack that affects your nervous system, right?"

Before Tony can answer, Fury growls, "That is not what this meeting is about. This is a public relations and disciplinary issue right now, and I don't think the message is getting through." He glares at Diana, who is impassive.

"I don't think that's gonna happen, sir," Steve finally states. "Politics and media don't carry any weight at all on Themyscira." Anticipating the director's reply, Diana stands in that effortlessly regal way that only royalty seems to do and says, "I am aware that I am not on Themyscira. I have already accepted my relegation to the library until future notice. Seeing that we are at an impasse, though, I see no reason to continue this debate." She turns and leaves the room.

The next few days are quiet and tense at headquarters. No one wants to discuss what happened, either in the news or in the meeting. Steve, Tony, and Thor have dutifully recited their prepared statements; Bruce, Clint, Natasha, and Diana have remained silent on the matter. Diana is confused, though, and saddened at the division her opinion has caused among her friends. "I don't understand. I will never understand how one can have a divisive political response to a personal opinion. I have apologized to each of my friends, as a group and individually for the discomfort I've caused them. Why are they still so angry?"

"You just chose a deeply divisive, religious, long-standing issue this country grapples with," Bruce offers. "You didn't know, you just answered how you honestly felt. I don't think anyone's angry though. I think we're all just unsure of how to move past the awkwardness."

Diana feels her face getting warm and her eyes beginning to fill. "We are no longer easy with each other in here. This is awful." Clint reaches over and pats her hand. "Everyone here's a grownup. We'll get over it. You'll see. You should've seen Steve and Tony around each other when they first met."

"Hey, I have an idea," Natasha announces. "Let's all go down to the big sparring room and piss off Bruce until he turns green. We'll tear the walls off the place. You in?" Diana shakes her head. "Thanks though. I've got soft research to do."

If things are uncomfortable at work, they're even worse at home. Diana knows that Steve's spiritual upbringing regards the unborn differently than she does. "How can you differentiate between one person's 'fetus' and one day our own unborn child," he asks her. "You say you don't think we're ready for a baby, but what if that happens before you think it's the right time? What would you want to do?" When he asks these questions, there is a note of accusation in his voice. She knows he tries very hard to understand her point of view. He says he really does understand that this was never an issue in her culture, by design.

Diana perceives myriad subtexts, however: he thinks she'd agree with him if she really thought about it; she has thought about it a good deal, and still does not agree. His sympathy goes as far as her inability to make political what she sees as common sense; she believes he is torn between supporting her and arguing against her. She is certain that to him, she appears insensitive to other points of view. For this third point, she is not. Of course it's sad that someone who should have been born will not be. She simply believes it is not Patriarchal World's role to determine the choices anyone makes about their bodies. More to the point, the reporters overlooked this woman's death as tragic in its own right, regardless of her pregnancy. "That's not what I meant," Steve tells her, frustrated. So the conversation goes in circles.

Tonight though, she will somehow put things right. She's lit candles throughout the apartment, made up a playlist of songs she knows Steve likes best, and has pushed furniture out of the way in the living room. Dinner from one of his favorite Italian restaurants is warming in the kitchen. She is wearing the dress she wore the first time they kissed, two years ago. When he gets home, he is carrying a dozen roses with him. He looks around quietly, and then smiles when he sees her: a real one, not the slightly pained or sad one to which she's been subjected lately. Diana meets him at the door. "I don't know if we will ever agree completely, but know this: I love you. I have no idea how contraception would even work for me since I'm not technically human. If I conceive before we hope to, we decide together how to proceed. I want a family with you. It is not a concession; we both want the same things."

He shakes his head. "I was wondering if you were worried. Just because I disagree with you doesn't mean I'm mad at you," he assures her. "You're probably right, we'll never see eye-to-eye on this one. But one thing that makes this country great is that we're aloud to have differing opinions." He hands her the roses down and hangs up his coat. "I've gotta admit though, there's something kind of nice about coming home to you like this, even if it shows my age. May I have this dance, or are you about to burn dinner?"


	7. Chapter 7

It is six a.m. on February 10, and the whole city has come to a standstill. Diana stands naked in front of the open window because it feels good: the freezing sun on hot skin. Before sunrise, they'd gone on their run because she insisted that the treadmill wouldn't be enough. He'd started out insisting she bundle up, but with each lap she shed another layer until she was down to leggings and a sports bra, making huge, emphatic strides in over three feet of snow and ice. She made new tracks each time around, refusing to allow herself the ease of retracing her steps. By the time they got home, the feel of any fabric against her skin was unbearable. Now, she lets her head fall back in the cradle of her shoulders and her damp hair streams down her back, almost down to her thighs. She spreads her palms wide, and the snow blows through the window and onto her throat and her breasts. The crystals linger briefly before they melt, but the storm is endless. There are always more snowflakes, more ice. She waits for the precipitation to move directly through her, to see how long it will take to become the thing that assails her.

As the riots of the past few weeks have increased in frequency and proximity to her home, Diana has not felt quite right. She feels unanchored—as if she needs to hold onto something solid. She feels constantly assaulted by energy. If she remains untethered, she may never stop moving.

Then there is a thump, and she is bereft. Steve regards her with a question on his face, but he won't ask it. She is all watery skin on dampened wood floor. He wears a towel around his waist but she focuses on the top half of his body. It is pale, and the light through the glass creates the illusion that he's actually hovering, emerged from the sky rather than having stepped in front of her to shut the window.

Now she feels a chill so she steps toward him, toward this new source of light. He smells like soap and summertime. The change in perspective is momentarily dizzying. Part of her wonders if when she embraces him, she might fall straight past him and crash through the glass and into the air. She wonders if she'd fly or simply allow the winds whisk her away and then slam her to the ground, bringing relief. She wonders if this is how the riots begin—the need for massive amounts of pressure to keep everyone from being carried off toward what they should never become. She knows what that feels like: some other energy pushing you out of yourself, becoming something you don't want to know that you really are.

He wants to say something but she interrupts by pressing her hands to his chest. His body is reassuringly solid against her palms. His heart is beating, and she can feel the ebb and flow of his breath through her fingertips. The towel around him is intolerable and rough. She tugs it off of him. He smiles and steps toward the bed but she says "No. Here on the wet floor." She knows she confounds him sometimes. She also knows he's used to it. In truth, the bed is too soft for now. She urgently needs the solidity of the ground beneath her. She won't let him reply. She steadies herself against a wall and pulls his mouth into hers.

She is Charybdis drowning in her own drink. When he pulls back from the kiss the fresh oxygen practically chokes her. He lifts her up. She wraps her legs around his waist and allows him to take her whole weight in his hands. When they sink to the floor and he lifts into her she bears down and presses as close as she can. She swims in fire, but it is the spaces between them that burn. If she makes herself small enough, she tells herself, he'll absorb her. The water on her skin freezes and boils into him. If she gets close enough to his body and holds herself very still, there will be no spaces left for her to evaporate and then she'll be him and he'll be her and they will be whole. Her body betrays her eventually, though, because she can't get close enough to seep through his skin. The closest she gets is upon absolute surrender, and sensation shuts out thought. She doesn't float away. She is here. She can feel the boundaries of her own body. She can sense into the small spaces between her skin and his.

They lay on the floor facing each other. His fingers resting lightly on her back are cooling. He gently presses his left hand to hers so that wedding bands touch. The combination of metal and skin is a catalyst for her to breathe fully for what seems like the first time since she woke up. She wonders what he's thinking about, but doesn't ask.

He presses a finger to the space just above her eyebrows. "What's going on in there?" For the first time ever, Steve witnesses something he never thought Diana would do, even if it never really occurred to him either way. She begins to shake, and he sits up and lets her fold herself into his lap. Diana is sobbing. Her entire body trembles against his skin and he holds her as tightly as he can, wondering what to do. "Are you okay?" Well that's a dumb question. "Are you hurt?" She shakes her head no. Her tears are hot, and they slide down his chest. That was also probably not the right question, anyway. She feels so fragile for someone so strong. He feels like an idiot. He sits on the cold, damp floor and holds onto her as she folds into him, until the sobbing gives way to crying, and then to slow, shuddery breaths.

Eventually, he helps her to her feet and leads her into the bathroom. He runs the bath and pours in the salt and oil she likes, and watches her lower herself into the oversized, claw footed tub. He knows what creature comforts tempt her the most. "Stay there," he tells her, even though he doesn't have to, and leaves.

She pours a capful of bubbles under the faucet and then sinks back. She hears him moving around somewhere in the apartment. She imagines he's been gone for days when he returns with a cup of tea and single-sized yogurt. "Come join me?" she asks. "Not until you eat something," he replies, and slips a spoonful of blueberry yogurt into her mouth. He doesn't join her until she dutifully finishes her breakfast and drinks all of her tea. "Do you feel better," he asks. She admits that she was probably hungry. He laughs at her a little as he climbs behind her in the tub, trying not to wince at the near-boiling temperature. "What would you do if I wasn't here?" He says, teasingly.

"Float away," she replies without any irony. "Maybe fall apart. One day soon you might have to tie me down just to keep me from disappearing." He leans around to study her face. "I'm worried about you, lately."

She twists herself around and cradles his face in her hands. "I'm not really leaving," she tells him.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it. What's going on?"

"Honestly, I really don't know. Maybe it's all the violent energy I've been exposed to lately and it really is making me unwell. I feel slightly untethered. I've been dreaming about things—memories—that are better forgotten, and I'm so unbearably sad when I wake. Even I have a shameful, dark secret or two. I don't know why they're coming up now."

This doesn't make Steve feel any better, she can tell. She tries again, "When I aided in the liberation of Sachsenhausen, there was a high ranking scientist there whom I caught in the act of killing one of his subjects. He had taken the needles off of three large vials of bacteria solutions and was plunging them down a young man's throat. The man was so emaciated and so thirsty that he swallowed the fluids readily. His eyes were enormous, and he kept telling the officer, "bitte, bitte, mehr." I think he choked on the solution before the diseases burned through his body. The entire room smelled like decay and bleach, as if he'd been trying to purify death itself."

Steve puts a hand to Diana's face and strokes it. "Steve, I did something terrible. I was so shaken at how evil human beings could be to each other. I didn't even know I could be that angry, but it overtook me quickly. I slammed the officer's head into a metal table over and over. Had Col. Trevor not found me, I probably would have tortured him to death. In fact I'm sure I would have. Every ounce of compassion I thought I'd possessed was gone for those few blinding moments. To this day, I wonder why, after all the atrocities I'd seen in the War, that one moment should have undone everything I thought I believed. I didn't care about good or bad, about boundaries I shouldn't ever cross. To this day, I am ashamed because I know that deep down, I might not be any better than anyone else. I'm capable of unspeakable things. It occurred to me then, as it does now, that I saw pure evil that day, and it wound its tendrils through my heart and I allowed it to fill me with rage. Later that day was the first time, but not the only one, when I deeply questioned whether I was really helping anyone in this world, if I was worthy of being Wonder Woman, this symbol for peace."

She won't even look at him directly. "I stopped looking for you after that, until the War ended and I want back home. I didn't feel deserving. I began my search again because I was selfish and couldn't stop thinking about you. I missed you too much to stop searching forever. When I remember these things, I certainly rethink whether I'm worthy of you."

Steve absorbs her tale silently. It's a lot to absorb. It's also not easy to focus on it when he's torn between looking into her beautiful face, and watching her breasts move in the soapy water as she breathes. He closes his eyes and hopes she doesn't think it's because he doesn't want to look at her. Why doesn't she think she's worthy of him? He isn't sure what to think. He's certainly seen enough atrocities in his lifetime feel absolute rage; he's certainly had to kill in the line of duty. Has he ever felt murderous, though? Absolute hatred? Maybe. He tries to imagine what he might have done had it been him that day, so long ago. He probably might've reacted similarly. Would he have carried that guilt with him? The question gives him pause. No, not necessarily. Diana is wrong, he concludes. There is nothing evil that could ever even come close to her heart, needless to say take up residence there. He opens his eyes, reaches through the water and hugs her tightly and thanks her. "You can tell me anything," he says. "In fact I want you to. I can't judge you for losing control and empathy for someone who did something like that Nazi. You say you're not technically human, but it's not true. If you weren't, you wouldn't be haunted by this." He kisses her brow, the tip of her nose, and then her lips.

"You're truly the best person I know, Steve. You are my anchor. I would never keep anything from you that you wanted to know about my life." She pauses, and he kisses her again. "The Japanese have an aphorism: every person has three hearts—each one encircling the other." She draws an imaginary heart over his chest with her forefinger. "The first one is the one everyone sees, the one you share with the public." She moves her finger to draw a smaller heart. "The second one is the one your friends see, the one you show to your family, the one you can only show when you're sure your secrets will be safe if you reveal them." She flattens her hand over the spot she's been tracing. "Then, there's the one that's the real you—the one that knows all of your best and all of your darkest truths. It's the one no one else gets to see." She locks her eyes on his. "If a person is exceptionally fortunate, they might meet one person in their lifetime to whom they can reveal their third heart. That person is your soul mate. Some people never find that one person."

He grins. "Actually I'm a little relieved. For a minute there I thought you were asking me to tie you up!"

Diana remains solemn. "I am, somewhat. Something you might not know about me is that when I am physically bound in Man's World, my powers are muted. If this new, unstable energy in the world makes me too sick, if it makes me lose control, I may need you to keep me bound, literally." She turns away again and rests her back against his chest. He rests his chin on her shoulder and looks at her as if trying to figure something out. She realizes he thinks she's once again being metaphorical more often than she actually means to be. So she gestures in the air, bath bubbles dripping from between her fingers. Her lasso appears, and she drapes it over them both but keeps his arms free.

"What ARE you doing?" She's caused him alarm, but she doesn't answer the question. Instead, she pulls the lasso tight around their torsos, and then loops the free end around and around her thighs. She slides her arms under the lasso and uses her mouth to pull it tight so that she can't move. "Have you lost your mind, Diana?"

"Don't let me disappoint you, Steve. You have to keep me bound so tightly to all the goodness that you are. Promise me." She feels the muscles in his abdomen tighten and his back straighten. "I don't blame you if you're repelled. You can slip out of the lasso if you want to, if I repel you, but promise you'll keep me held fast."

Instead he hugs her a little tighter. "I'm not repelled, Diana. I promise you. You don't need a lasso. You came from a place where battle was a matter of honor and torture was unheard of. You came here and saw humanity at its worst. You saw Hell; I don't blame you for making a connection to the things you see now. But sweetheart, you are my princess and my goddess and my angel. You are my wife and I will carry any burden of yours you want to give me." He kisses tears off her face. They sit quietly, bound together. When he feels her muscles start to relax, he moves his mouth to her neck and begins to knead her shoulders. She seems even more vulnerable right now, and he wonders how much of it is because she really is emotionally raw at the moment, and how much is because she has bound herself so tightly. He wonders if Diana is immune to her own lasso of truth. Either way, he feels overwhelmingly protective and possessive right now. They are silent until the water becomes tepid. "Are you ready to get out?" he asks. She nods, and he starts once again to undo the knot at her wrists. She resists. Instead, she loops her bound wrists around Steve's neck and says, quietly but firmly, "Please take me to bed. Take it off of yourself if you want to, but not me. Not yet."

He feels his stomach do something strange, but he stands up without stepping out of the lasso and scoops her into his arms, and does as requested. "I'm really not sure about this," he tells her. He wonders if the lasso has the ability to loosen inhibitions. Maybe that's how it makes you tell the truth, because in reality, his body is very sure about this. He thinks it's likely that if he wasn't in contact with the lasso of truth, he might have a little more control and be able to say no. As it is though, he doesn't want to say no. Right now he wants to do exactly what she wants: keep her as closely bound to him as possible, not let her leave, not even let her move much. Right now he wants to be the source of all the joy and comfort she isn't permitting herself, so he keeps her tied up and kisses her, first very slowly, then deeper and deeper. He's a little horrified to admit to himself that the way she kisses him back, the fact that she can't direct him with her hands or legs, has an aphrodisiac-like effect on him. He and pays close attention to every reaction she has, everywhere he touches her with his hands and mouth. He goes over some places more than once with varying amounts of pressure and force to see if he can elicit the same responses more than once.

She keeps her eyes open, watching him with a mix of curiosity and trust. Maybe it's that faith she has in him, combined with her sighs and that slight shaking she does, that makes it impossible for him to stop. He doesn't want to stop. Even though the idea of his wife helpless should be awful, and knowing that he has no intention of hurting her, he also has no intention of stopping. Part of him despises himself right now. But she isn't helpless, and she closes her eyes, rolls her head around on the pillow and arches into him when he enters her and puts his mouth to her jaw and her throat. No, she's not helpless. It occurs to him to keep it that way. He sits up and unties her wrists completely, and her reaction is so strong that he nearly loses all control. She pulls him on top of her and digs her fingers deep into his back. She seals off his breath with her mouth, and tightens around him with intensity he's never felt before, leaving them gasping for air as they climax together.

Diana sleeps away the rest of the morning and early afternoon, leaving Steve to brood over this morning's events. She is probably right; this shift in her moods, the way she races to intervene in any hint of civilian conflict, her raw vulnerability all probably stem from the same energy signatures SHIELD scientists have noticed in the places where these riots spring up. They all know this is real, and he's seen it personally when Diana becomes so fatigued, or Bruce turns on a dime from calm friendliness to raging Hulk. He worries about what might happen if they don't get in front of this thing. He worries about what might happen if Diana confronts whatever is causing this head-on.

It should make him feel good, probably, that she just trusted him with what she considers her most shameful secret. It should be validating that she believes him to be everything that is right and good in the world, to the point of abdicating her free will for a little while. Is that what happened just now? She wanted to stay tied up. When they were able to move again, she said she loved him, she curled up into him and said thank you. She waved her lasso away and it disappeared, and she said, "I think it's safe now. Thank you, my sweet love," as if he'd rescued her from something. He hadn't. He shouldn't have agreed to it. He should not have felt that much absolute physical and emotional pleasure over his wife's physical and emotional fragility. What does it mean when in the absence of superego, he was more than willing to subjugate the person he cares for more than anything in the world? How trustworthy does that really make him? With that rope around him too, and he had no choice but to be truthful with himself, could he have stopped if she had changed her mind or gotten scared?

Or, what if he'd been manipulated by her? Maybe he really was doing exactly what she wanted him to do and she was selfish with her own motivations? Should he be feeling resentful instead of guilty? He floats the idea around for a few minutes, but it doesn't make sense. He's always absolutely honest with her, to his best knowledge. She gave him several chances to ditch the lasso's hold on him, and he didn't do it. The lasso showed him who he was. It's not her fault if it turns out he doesn't like what he saw. He intends to tell her later, when she wakes up, that this is not going to happen again.

She looks peaceful as she sleeps right now. It isn't the exhausted dead-to-the-world sleep she's had, lately. Her hair is splayed out on the pillow like a dark halo, and her breathing is even and tranquil. The sky is gray. As far as he is concerned, she is the light source in the room. He rolls over to take his sketchbook and pencils out of his nightstand drawer.

By nighttime, it is still snowing. They eat dinner in front of the TV and the news lists the entire government as closed except for essential personnel. She's slept for real, and she's eaten, Steve thinks. He's relieved, and not disappointed that in the absence of a superhero-worthy emergency, they'll have well into Valentine's Day to themselves at this rate. Meteorologists predict the blizzard to last for at least another forty-eight hours. "As long as no fights break out over bread and milk at the supermarket I guess the city is safe from violence for a while," Steve suggests. Diana sighs. "Do you think we should head over to the shelter and deliver supplies tomorrow?" Steve shakes his head. He'd actually forgotten about that plan. When will she stop calling herself selfish? How can she even think that when all she does is think about the needs of other people? "Let's do it tonight," he tells her, "while there aren't so many news teams around to get in the way."


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you ready for this?" Diana nods to Bruce. They stand at the front of their mats, facing each other. The only sound in this white, windowless room is the heat blowing through the vents from the ceiling. She closes her eyes and rocks back and forth from the balls of her feet to her heels, then from her left foot to her right. She senses deeply into her feet, finding her balance and stability. She used to do this in Themyscira when her mother led her through mindfulness exercises. She brings her awareness through her calves and thighs, tries to sense into the minute space between her tight leggings and her skin. She draws her palms to her heart center, imagining that with her inhalation, fresh, clean air surrounds and fills the energy there. This is tadasana, she's learned, or "mountain pose." For a moment, however, she is on her favorite beach at home, her own private space, and almost hears the waves, and the sounds of her sisters—her subjects, singing off in the distance. Instead of rubber mat and dry heat, she feels sand and sunlight. She brings her awareness back to the present moment. The Princess of Themyscira is not on her beach; the women are not in this space. There is a reason they use this room: no distractions: no music, no colors or shapes, and no choice but to focus on what is happening in the body-mind. It is an honor that Bruce share's this empty space with her.

She inhales again, drawing her palms up over head. She presses her shoulder blades into her back, letting them cradle the space that holds her heart. With a flat back, she dives forward. She knows her long braid has probably hit Bruce in the face as he dove down as well. "Sorry," she says, without opening her eyes. He doesn't reply, but she hears a kind of dismissal of the intrusion in his breath. Her brow touches her shins. She sees blue: not just the blue of the spandex against her head, but the blue that is the energy of her intuition: deep indigo. She inhales blueness, and in so doing, inhales Pallas Athena's perception and clarity...hopefully.

On the next exhalation she extends her right leg as far back as she can, into low lunge. She draws her sternum forward, brings her arms past her head and curling her toes under, she lifts her hips and thighs off the ground. Her sternum and heart press toward her friend and she's reasonably sure he's staring at her breasts as she rolls her shoulders further away from her ears. "Balancing Warrior." They are here because these warriors do need to find balance right now. She wishes Steve was her as well, rather than deployed for a few days in San Francisco, investigating a riot with Natasha. He will be home today. She will see him at the afternoon meeting and they will go home together. "Breathe, Diana," she hears Bruce say. He must be focusing on her more than himself if he senses her breath changing. She focuses on her inner thighs, isometrically drawing them together, and draws her navel in toward her spine. The motion makes her hips sink a little further into the pose.

On the next exhalation she steps her left foot back into plank, then lifts her right foot off the floor, catches her foot with her left hand in a kind of backbend. Just keep breathing, she tells herself. I am here. When she steps back into downward facing dog, lifting her sit bones, she releases her heels into the floor and she is fully grounded again. I am here. I am here. Breathe. Just this, just this inhalation, just this exhalation. She becomes aware of her heart quickening as she drops her chest further toward her thighs.

She steps forward into balancing warrior with her right foot. The balance on this side is different—not as steady. Her friend is here to keep her steady. She wants Steve here. She's grown accustomed to having his strength to buttress her. When did she lose her own sense of balance? She lets her head drop back into the basked of her shoulders, exposing her jugular to Bruce. She needs to become comfortable with her own vulnerability to regain her center of strength. They both do. That's why they're effectively grounded from missions for now. She can find the place where she is able to want and miss Steve without losing her balance, without needing him. The more she seeks such a space within herself, the more elusive it becomes.

When she feels her body warm, she steps forward, bringing her thumbs to her sternum again. She remembers to press into her feet. Always start with your support. "What part of you will carry your weight into the world with grace?" she remembers a teacher asking her once. She senses into her pelvic bone, her center of gravity. Femurs descend from hip sockets and energy flows downward, like water, into the earth. Rib cage lifts, crown lifts to Olympus, to the heavens. She is a princess and a demigoddess. Her body-mind must remember this, or she will never get through the ordeal to come. Somewhere inside, past her bones, she is certain that there is an ordeal to come.

Just breathe. Just this. And her friend is here to support her, even if he might be staring at the demarcation of muscles in her torso right now. "Deepen your breath. Control it," she hears him say.

She smiles. "I'm trying," she tells him.

"I wasn't talking to you."

She remembers Natasha's warning. "You don't realize the effect you have on men. If Bruce wants to meditate or do asanas with you, it's because he thinks it would be a good way to test his own control. He knows you can take on the Hulk." Steve had said something similar. "Of course I trust you, sweetheart. And I trust Bruce. That doesn't mean I'm completely comfortable with the whole project, though. I don't trust what might happen if he loses control. I see the way other people look at you—even the ones that love us."

She reminds herself, I am here. Her mind has been elsewhere for most of this first round of surya namaskar. The mind is a time-traveler. It doesn't stay still for very long. Focus on sensation and you render the mind still. It was a very early lesson in her upbringing. It was meant to counter an iron-clad prophesy her mother had heard, that her daughter would dream of life elsewhere, fight in the world of man. She would be restless. So Hippolyta taught her to control her mind. Right now Diana's mind is with Steve, and she feels like she can almost touch it. She wonders if it's a skill she could develop. She wonders why physical miles, just space between them, makes her feel less whole. Just breathe. I am here, now, and whole. This used to be easy.

She goes through the motions of another ten rounds, forcing herself to go slowly. "You can't outpace your own thoughts, Diana," Bruce said to her once. "Even you aren't fast enough for that, so just stay with whatever's happening in your mind. Be curious about it. Make friends with it so it stops demanding your attention." The room is white. She hears her own breath, her friend's breath, the heated air through the vents. She sits on a meditation cushion and focuses on nothing, allowing nothingness to simply happen to her.

Later that afternoon, the team waits for Diana so the meeting can begin. "And you saw her last in the yoga room?" Steve repeats, looking at Bruce.

"She was gone when I opened my eyes."

Steve glares at him. "And nothing was out of place, nothing was broken, Mr. Hyde didn't stuff her in a closet somewhere. She's not answering her phone, Bruce, and it seems you're the one who saw her last."

"Look," Tony tells him. "It seems unlikely that she just disappeared, and the entire wing of the building knows when Hulk is around. She's been wiped lately. Maybe she just took a nap somewhere."

"Sensors haven't picked her up in the building." Steve replies. He feels like breaking something. An assistant to Director Fury quietly walks in and places a note in front of him. He nods, and the assistant leaves. He flips a switch and monitors unfold from the meeting table. "We have a very big problem." He looks at Steve with a mixture of sympathy and caution. "Try to stay calm." On their screens, each team member sees a picture of Diana. She is bound to a wall in heavy iron chains, slumped over unconscious. She is still wearing her yoga clothes: dark blue leggings, bright pink sports bra, and bare feet. Then Steve sees another familiar face. Nyx walks up to Diana and pulls her head up by her hair, so everyone can see her face. He takes out a hunting knife and presses it to her jaw just enough to make her bleed a little bit. When he removes it, the opening heals. Nyx looks into the camera and smiles. He says, "I believe we can do business, now. We will be in touch soon."


	9. Chapter 9

Diana tries to focus in the gray light of her prison. Gradually, gradually, shapes form: heavy-looking wooden table, an array of daggers and knives, medieval-looking torture devices. The presence of several palm-sized electronic devices assures her that she hasn't time-traveled. In the corner of the room she notices a video camera. The next thing she realizes is that she is still in civilian clothes. She closes her eyes again and tries to remember what happened. There was a moment on her meditation cushion where she felt blissful nothingness: absence of thought, absence of physical boundaries of her body, almost pure energy. Now she is here. Her feet are still bare, but the slab floor beneath her is warm. Her arms are cuffed and chained above her head. She doesn't really feel them, aside from the cold heaviness of the shackles. There is a belt and chain around her waist and each ankle as well. She's reminded for a moment of Andromeda awaiting the Kraken.

Time passes. A man she recognizes enters the room. "Nyx," she says. He smiles widely, and she understands she's given herself away. "And here I thought I was simply getting even with your husband for Sarx," he replies. "Mr. Backus will be so pleased that I've actually brought him Wonder Woman." There are other men and women in the room with them. The one she called Eris leans against a table and plays with a ceremonial dagger. She walks up to Diana with it, and takes one of her hands, studying it. "Life line, love line—well that one looks deep. She slashes the dagger across Diana's palm and Diana screams." Eris smiles. "I liked that!"

Another man, standing in the back of the room, shakes his head slowly. "It isn't fun when they can't fight back," he says with a sigh. He looks at Eris. "And she's far too lovely to scar up like that." He takes a few steps, and he is standing in front of Diana. He studies her bloody hand. "That must hurt, my dear. Here. Let me." He puts his mouth to the gash in her hand and kisses it. She recoils, even as her hand cools and the wound closes and heals. She jerks her hand back from him. "Phanes," she says. He bows. "Your Highness."

She asks, "So does that make 'Mr. Backus' Dionysus?" Phanes shrugs. "Really you weren't supposed to be here at all, dearest daughter of the goddesses, but Nyx here is angry at how things turned out with his own paramour. It'll all work out though. Say, when we're finished killing off your friends and your husband, maybe the big boss will let me keep you as a plaything. He's all about creating his own playground since Zeus won't share his, but I'm more interested in entertaining myself. You really do look just like Aphrodite. He leans in toward her face, and whispers, "Nyx is a narrow-minded human being. He fancies that he'll have some kind of power when our goals are reached. He doesn't even know our goals. The Concordance Group is simply a means to a greater end." Diana head butts him. It's painful. Phanes laughs and kisses her. She bites down on his tongue and he cries out in pain. "Now that I know who you are, don't think for a minute that I'm letting you out of those shackles. He turns to another man and says, Orzys, when you're done with her, I need you.

Diana runs through her memory of pre-Titan history. Phanes was a god of carnality and creation. Makes sense. Orzys…a minor god of misery, if she remembers correctly. Well this certainly is a nightmare if anything else.

That rage, all that energy that has made her so ill, so tired these past few weeks, solidifies into a small, black ball in her core. Steve was wrong. She is very capable of hatred, and she is more than capable of putting aside her own morals if it suits her. At least, she thinks, she's capable of giving the impression. Whether it's rage or fear or hatred, some new emotion is giving her strength, and she is willing to embrace it for now. Even bound this tightly, she will find a way to protect the people she loves and the world to which she belongs. She remembers what Nyx said about Bruce, about how this ironically named group sees him as the ultimate man in a state of his true nature. She recalls Athena's wisdom—one needn't be brutish in war. There are wise ways to be violent. She isn't sure this is an example of wisdom, but it comes from her heart as she says it.

"Touch me again and you will sorely regret it. Artemis Herself will pierce your testicles with poisoned arrows and her hounds will pull out your tongue and devour it. And when she is finished with you, I will stand over you and laugh. I will pour acid down your throat and over your skin, and when you heal I will repeat it. You will wish you were Prometheus devoured by birds, for it is a kind punishment compared to what I will make you endure."

Phanes smirks. "I don't intend to violate you. Not until your own beloved is chained up across from you, paralyzed perhaps, watching. We WANT war, Princess. We are tearing down this world on the way to Mount Olympus itself. When I am through with you, we will allow you to watch us torture your husband. You and Captain America, the almost universal symbols of law and order and freedom, will be corrupted in front of each other. Then he will die, and you will become something else. A symbol for the new world disorder."

She never really understood the furies before, except for the one time in Sachsenhausen. She understands it now, even more viscerally. Somewhere, deeply buried beneath her anger, she understands that she is feeding off the energy in the room. However, she also understands how love can lead you down the darkest paths for the right reasons, and that she wouldn't necessarily care about the consequences to her own soul. "If I never have Steve back again," she thinks, "then this will be all I have left. No humanity, no morals, no love—I shall be all hatred, all fury. She is having trouble thinking past the hypothetical plans into hypothetical consequences. "Do you hear me, Phanes, Dionysus, anyone who dares contemplate your plans? I will make all of you beg the gods to give you mortality so that you can die. I will make sure you know you are responsible for the tearing asunder of everything important to you. And when I'm satisfied that you have all been completely broken, irreparably shattered and reduced to well past nothingness, I will watch you writhe in your own putrid anguish and I will laugh. And when I tire of watching, I will be able to rest, and I will be at peace, and finally I will be able to die and go to Hell."

Phanes turns around and smiles. "I really like her," Orzys exclaims. "I haven't even done anything to her yet."

"She really is quite sweet," he agrees. "Enjoy her then." He guides Eris from the room and shuts the door.


	10. Chapter 10

Steve goes completely cold for a few seconds. He makes fists, digging his nails into the flesh of his palms and stares across the table at Bruce. "How did you," he says evenly, then jumps to his feet and lunges across the table, "NOT see her get TAKEN?!" He has dragged Bruce across the table. Bruce springs onto all fours and his eyes flash bright green. His sleeves begin to rip, and Steve has his fist drawn back. He can feel his jaw clench and his stomach tighten. He hears Clint yell "Oh, shit!" In what feels like a time-lapse, Iron Man and Thor are holding Bruce down by the arms; Natasha has Steve's arms pinned behind him and Clint has an arrow trained on him. "You wouldn't use that," Steve growls at Clint. "Try me," he replies.

The team splits up to drag each man off in opposite directions. By the time Director Fury and Tony get to the holding cell where Steve is kept, there isn't much left of the walls. Steve feels like imploding. He senses every vein in his neck and arms heat and pulse. As soon as he sees the director, he shouts, "She is HELPLESS chained up like that! Why the hell am I locked up right now?" He slams another hole into a wall.

"We don't even know where to look," Fury replies. "Bruce was drugged. He knows nothing. They've got to make the next move. Believe me, we've got the techs analyzing the video and we are making this a priority. I'm gonna let you out now, but you need to go home. As soon as we have something new, you will know about it. The cell door automatically opens. "C'mon Buddy, Thor and I are your ride home," Tony says, patting Steve on the back. He shrugs Tony's arm away.

Tony follows him into his apartment, so they both see the yellow padded envelope on the dining room table. Steve rips it open before Tony can caution him to have it tested. Nothing happens. Inside the envelope is a DVD. "Are you at all curious about how this got here?" he asks. Without acknowledging that anyone else is in the room, Steve walks into the living room and pops the DVD into the player and turns on the TV. Tony perches leans on the arm of the sofa and watches; Thor folds his arms and stands behind the sofa.

Like the last video, the first shot is of Diana. This time she is awake though. "This is for your private entertainment, Captain Rogers." Nyx narrates off-camera. "Meet my colleagues, Phanes and Hypnos. They're not human, like us. Well, like me, anyway. I suppose you're not like other humans, anyhow." Phanes walks up to Diana and lifts her face toward the camera. She looks angry and repulsed. "Only Aphrodite herself could have given such a gift," he says to the camera. Then he kisses her, and cries out in shock and pain. Diana has bitten down hard on his tongue. She spits blood at him. "Atta-girl," Tony says.

"As you can see, Phanes here is quite taken with your wife. I was quite taken with Miss Sarx, whom I believe died in your custody. I also know that you have been unforthcoming with your information. Mr. Backus is so happy that I've brought him the Princess of Themyscira, Wonder Woman herself; but now I am not allowed to torture her as much as I'd like. In fact, I've been instructed to leave her relatively healthy. So, no permanent damage will come to her. Not yet." He pauses. "So here is our offer to you, and I don't recommend taking too much time to consider it. The Concordance Group wants your Dr. Banner. Your wife is of little use to us, except as a symbol of how compassion and rules result in bureaucracy and weakness. The same really goes for you, by association. Bring us the Hulk, and, when we are finished with her, you can have your Wonder Woman back, Captain America. You have twenty four hours until you are contacted again for an answer. Meanwhile, see what else my demigod colleagues can do to your own demigoddess. They really are having such fun with their new toy." The camera focuses on the one Nyx calls 'Hypnos,' who places a hand over Diana's face and she slumps in her chains, unconscious.

Steve grabs a vase of flowers from the coffee table and hurls it at the blank TV screen. It shatters and sends water and petals all over the place. "We will find her. We will bring her back," Thor assures him. He puts a hand on Steve's shoulder. Tony takes the DVD out of the machine and feeds it into the laptop on the dining room table. In a few seconds, a copy is sent directly to Nick Fury.

The next morning Diana is in bed, and smiles sweetly when he opens his eyes. "I was hungry so made us breakfast," she tells him. "We can run this afternoon instead." He holds her tightly and buries his head in her hair. "Just stay here," he says. "Don't leave my sight." She laughs. "Hey, c'mon, it's gonna get cold." She hands him a coffee cup. It's empty. Then a drop of something thick and red plops to the bottom of the white cup. It's followed by another, and another, until the cup is almost full of Diana's blood, which pours from the palm of her hand. "I think I know what this is," she says to him.

He bolts upright, awake for real this time. It is 2 a.m. In the next room, he hears Thor talking to someone. He splashes water on his face without bothering about stubble, and then over his head in the bathroom sink. He looks around the bedroom when he comes back, lets his focus settle on the undisturbed side of the bed. He sits on that side and rounds over Diana's pillow, hugging it to him. After a while, when the scent of her shampoo fades, he walks down the hallway to the kitchen. Thor is saying, "I'm almost certain. It isn't far from here. Yes, as soon as he is awake."

"How long was I asleep?" The kitchen lights are bright. He still scans the room, as if Diana were in here somewhere. Instead, he sees someone else. "About forty minutes," Bruce replies from the sofa. He's drinking out of a white coffee mug that has the word "serene" embossed on its side in small, neat letters. It's the one Diana drinks her herbal tea out of most mornings—the stuff that he jokes smells like flowers and tastes like soap. He steadies his breath and resists the urge to snatch it from Bruce's hands. Clint is also in the kitchen. He hands Steve a fresh cup of coffee. "You're gonna be groggy for a little while. We kind of drugged you to get you to go to sleep."

"You're all heart." The coffee is very hot. He tastes heat, mostly. Heat and something bitter at the back of his tongue.

"I volunteered for the trade-off," Bruce begins. Tony is next to Bruce. His elbows are on his knees, and he supports his head with his hands. "For all the good that did," he says. "Then we'll find another way," Nick Fury replies from where he's been leaning against a wall, off in the corner of the room. "The Senate Committee on Superhuman Affairs will not agree to a trade. As far as they're concerned, Diana's little pro-choice moment was enough for them to treat her as a political liability. So pack up. In the morning when you are contacted, you are going to agree to the trade anyway, without my knowledge. I am assuming this is a time when following orders and protocols is slightly less important to you. "

Steve nods. Fury continues, "You will likely lose your commission, face dishonorable discharge, and might be accused of treason for this." Steve nods again. "I will do whatever I have to get Diana back safely…hey, where's Natasha? Espionage is her thing. Why isn't she here?"

"I was on the phone with her when you walked in," Thor says. "She thinks she knows who to speak with, to find out where Diana is being held."

The day drags on; the helplessness that comes with having no action to take wears him down. The morning and afternoon take on a kind of milky haze. Everything Steve sees and does happens through a thin, slightly viscous film. Team members take turns babysitting him and running interference at headquarters. When directed, he goes through the motions of living through the hours: sleep, shower, shave. Go run. Eat this. Shower again. He is given files, but he can't tell anyone what he's read. "Words," he tells them.

The doorbell rings at exactly 6 p.m. A skinny teenager with dark hair hands Steve another padded envelope when he opens the door. Steve grabs the kid by the collar and slams him into the wall. "Who sent you? Where's your boss?"

Clint sprints up and extricates the kid from Steve's grip. "Whoa buddy, he's probably just some kid who someone gave some money to for making a delivery." He turns to the boy. "Go on, get outta here," he tells him. The boy runs.

The video again focuses on Diana. This time, two men stand next to her. Nyx's disembodied voice says, "Good morning, Captain America. Are you feeling heroic? Have you decided to come to the aid of your damsel in distress?" One of the men is large, with olive skin and almost as large and muscular as the Hulk, makes a fist and slams it into Diana's solar plexus so forcefully that the wall behind her cracks slightly. She looks angry, as if she'd been deeply insulted. She instinctively tries to make a fist and hit back, but the chains hold her fast. "That's Erebos," Nyx explains. Sarx's brother. He is angry at you as well, but you're not here to hurt. Remember, friend, no permanent damage. Erebos slams her into the wall again.

Nyx continues, "At the end of this bit of entertainment, I will give you instructions." He pauses. Diana is saying something, but it's been muted. Nyx laughs. "I can see why Phanes likes her so much!" She doesn't know she's being recorded. Would you like to hear the tirade? I'll turn the sound on for you.

Diana's voice is a low, raspy growl that Steve didn't think she even could manage. "If you hurt my husband, be certain that even immortal, you are a dead man. I will kill you, I swear it. I will hunt you down with every Artemis-given gift I have and I will make you suffer for a thousand millennia. I will find and destroy everything that is dear to you. I shall take away neither your heartbeat, nor your breath. I will make you wish I would grant you that mercy. No—one by one I am going to pick out every single thing you hold precious, every person you love and I am going to make you sit there impotently as I destroy them: every sibling, every friend. I swear you will pay for Steve's life and every other life you take. I swear by Hera and Hades."

The sound goes mute again. The other man, who wears a full-length, hooded white cloak, puts his hand to her head and Steve sees that she is screaming in pain.

"That's other man is Ker. He has a peculiar talent for pain. I really do understand why Mr. Backus believes your Hulk would be an excellent link between the dark demigods and the potential humanity holds. He's quite exquisite. Some colleagues, like Phanes, think your wife is exquisite and alluring in her own right, but I don't see it. Even when she's this enraged it's more entertaining than anything else." He sighs wistfully. At any rate, on Saturday at 8 a.m. you and a colleague of your choice, if you wish it, will deliver Dr. Banner to the address inside the envelope, and receive further instructions. Bring weapons if you wish; it will be in vain. Remember, you have approximately forty-eight hours. In the meantime, we'll have fun with our new toy. He flips a switch for the sound again. The sounds Diana makes are of absolute suffering.

"I'm gonna kill him," Steve says. "I'm gonna get her out of there, and then I am going to destroy them."


	11. Chapter 11

"I am here. I am here." Diana breathes deeply. Finding that place of absolute quiet, absolute peace is too difficult, though. It isn't the physical pain—bruises and cuts heal. Even the mental and emotional pain, the indignities thrust upon her by the sons and daughters of Nyx—the real one, not the human man who has taken her name—are endurable. She is furious, though. She let her guard down and allowed herself to be taken.

On the other hand, she has valuable information for SHIELD, if she can regain her strength. THIS is the thing that terrifies her, though. She glances down at her torso—the lines of each of the muscles through her chest and abdomen. She pulls on her chains. She is so strong. They do not budge. Only the gods would know how to weaken and subdue her. Getting quiet, finding that white spaciousness where there is peace, isn't necessarily impossible. It is a place of vulnerability, though. Vulnerability got her here. Then again, vulnerability and receptivity also brought her much happiness. How long has she been here?

If she cannot be alone in the quiet of her mind, she can find another way to center herself. The Princess of Themyscira, favorite child of the goddesses and Hermes, closes her eyes and focuses on relaxing the muscles of her cranium. Her brow, the center of her intuition, resists softening. She imagines sending healing breath to the place another culture calls the "third eye." She invites her jaw and throat to soften, and then her heart center. She sees green. Green, bright, loving energy spreads from the spaciousness of her heart. She can see him in her mind's eye. "Hear me," she says to her mind's image of Steve. "Find me."

She is on a beach, but it isn't really home. This isn't the same kind of distraction that happens when she does asana sequences with Bruce. She wonders if her friend is okay. Was he taken as well? Is he suffering? If he is still safe, she is sure Steve blames him for her abduction. "Please forgive him," she mentally says to Steve. She walks in the wet sad toward the ruins of a temple dedicated to Artemis. The statue is partly destroyed, and the marble arrows spill from their quiver. She puts her hand to the cool marble of one of the dismembered hands. It warms to her touch, and the palm opens. Diana lies down and places her cheek in the living marble of Artemis's right hand and closes her eyes. She prays.

When she opens her eyes and stands, she sees a fiery chariot on the horizon, back where she started. She makes her way towards it. Her feet hover just an inch above the sandy earth. When she reaches the vehicle, she sees that the driver is Apollo Himself, and she kneels, bowing her head deeply. Apollo is known for his appetite for beautiful women, but Diana is not afraid. Her guardian is his sister, and he will not violate her. When she lifts her face to look at him, she sees that he is beautiful. His hair is the color of the sun, and it flows into the atmosphere as if it were pure light. He has revealed himself to her in full. His nudity is an honor and a given, just as it is for her. She remembers her confusion about this when she first came to Man's World—the obsession with covering the body. The body is a gift. This is Apollo's body, not an avatar. She is kneeling in front of a god for the second time in her life. Cold tears spill from the rims of her eyes. She is blessed beyond any measure of man or Amazonian. This body is neither sexual nor shameful; it is simply him, the god of the sun, the truth, of music and poetry. When he extends his smooth, strong hand to her, she takes it, and he lifts her to him. She cannot see his face. She is not worthy of the perfect face of Apollo. And yet, when he presses his lips to hers, she knows his face. She knows the curve of his cheekbones, the slope of his nose. She knows his eyes are like the ocean after a storm, and she knows his high, noble brow. His lips are full, and without opening his mouth, he tells her what she needs to know. The sun, every deepest truth she has, every song and poem ever written, moves through her like life-blood.

She stands on the beach, right where she started. She sees her beloved husband. He hasn't shaved in a few days, and he looks desperate and tired. She motions him to follow, and she turns to walk toward the center of the sun itself. It doesn't burn. She possesses Hestia's gift of affinity with fire. The heat is cleansing. Everything she is not, every bit of her that is bruised, and cut, burns away. Layers of skin, and the black bits of hatred she's discovered beneath the skin, turn to ash and fall away. She is becoming pure again. She reaches out for Steve because she knows she can protect him from the flames. They can become more than what they already are. She already knows what is in his third heart.

She sees green again. Green, clear light, her heart's own energy, fills her. Diana opens her eyes and is aware of an overall sense of calm and well-being. Still shackled, she stands taller. Without knowing why, she slides one foot across a stone slab and it moves. With effort, the stone slides away, revealing a small cavity in the dirt. In the dirt, there lies Artemis's bow and a quiver of silver arrows. Diana slides the slab back across the floor. Every poem ever written, every song ever sung, thrums through her veins. She leans her head back against the wall and smiles.


	12. Chapter 12

Steve kneels down in the sand to inspect the footprints. It is light and small—a woman's foot. The smell of clean ocean and musky seaweed settles deeply in his nose, and almost makes him remember something that happened a long time ago. He can't quite find the memory. The smell of the ocean is taunting his brain. He presses his own foot into the footprint and tries to imagine her actual feet: their perfect shape, the place just at the inverted "V" at the ball of her foot. He thinks of the reaction he triggers when he presses into that place. He begins to follow the footprints, keeping his feet in them as much as he can without erasing them.

When the footprints abruptly end, he is overwhelmed with a feeling of helplessness. In front of him is a marble structure—an ancient temple to Artemis, the huntress. When he approaches, he sees that her arms are missing; her bow is broken; sculpted marble arrows splay about her feet.

Continuing on, he finds a practically abandoned, ancient town. The denizens of the place are old. He looks everywhere, even in the most unlikely places: through the cracks in old clay walls, through the windows of other peoples' homes. Startled strangers gape back at his obscured face. He breaks down doors and looks behind them—the doors lead nowhere. When he returns to the beach, he digs through sand with bare hands, and the sand slips through his fingers and falls back into place, obscuring her footprints.

He sees her darkened image against the sun calls to her, but she recedes into the brightness. He runs toward her as she withdraws. He sees her outline surrounded by pure, white light; it hurts his eyes. It hurts his skin. He smolders from the inside and out through his skin. He catches up with her, and they both burn in the center of the sun. She turns to him; He puts his fingers to her head and her hair singes. He takes her hand and it disintegrates into ash. She doesn't seem to mind; in fact she smiles at him, and her face is so brilliantly peaceful it nearly makes his heart stop. She turns and walks; he follows. He still sees her; the ground feels like broken glass through his feet. He is afraid of what she might be trying to tell him.

She passes through the bright heat and guides him to where she stands. They are purged—clean as new-borns, and absolutely whole. Everything is different now. They clasp each other's hands; their palms are cool to the touch. He holds her naked body to his, and their hearts beat into one another. They are one heart. That is still the same. Some things are absolute. When he opens his eyes, her side of the bed is still empty. Diana is very neat and orderly. He wishes there was at least a strand of hair on her pillow, maybe something she wore to bed underneath it, but there is no trace of his wife in their bed. He gives himself permission to sob into her pillow without caring that one of his friends and colleagues (he's not even sure who has babysitting duties right now) may hear him.

When he gets up, he showers, shaves, does his best to pull himself together. When he emerges from the bedroom, he carries a duffel bag with his costume, and his shield is strapped to his back. Tony and Bruce look up from their coffee and files. He knows they have Natasha's intel. He knows some sense of direction and place from his dream, even though most of it has faded. He just knows. "Let's go," he tells them.


	13. Chapter 13

Steve leans on a railing of the commercial fishing boat Tony requisitioned, looking out at the choppy gray water miles off the coast of Alaska. He feels badly about imposing on a wealthy friend for an illegal operation. Not that Tony seemed to care about that. Steve wonders about the moral slippery slope he's traversing. But he HAS to do this. It gives him a minute amount of relief that he convinced Tony to stay in Washington, at least. The water occasionally splashes onto the deck, but he doesn't really notice. His physical balance is fine; it's his emotional balance that he and his colleagues aren't sure about. There is no horizon. The orange sunlight on the water doesn't seem to have a source here, even though the light is ubiquitous this far north. The sky and the waves are thick and gray, and illuminated by orange light that might as well come from a fluorescent bulb.

He thinks about the friend whom he could not persuade to stay behind. Bruce has always been a good friend to Diana. He was her anchor as she regained her memories, her understanding of who she was, last year. "I, on the other hand, took off," he remembers. "For the second time now, Diana needed me and I was on the other end of the country, by choice." She didn't want him to go on the mission to California. She never said as much, but he could see that she was still fragile, still sick. She needed him. Not even six months ago, her mother had delivered her an ultimatum, saying she'd had no choice but to force Diana to choose between worlds. "You always have a choice, Mother," she'd said to her. "What is important to you?"

Steve's choice was action. He thought he could get ahead of Concordance and put an end to the riots and Diana's illness. He'd convinced himself the greater good would automatically bring Diana back to health. "Once again," he thinks, "Bruce was there for her while I was off pretending to be everyone's hero. Will she forgive me if I willingly sacrifice her friend, and mine? But how can I not?" Bruce's choice is also action. He's a voluntary bargaining chip. If it comes down to it, Bruce told him, he wants to trade places with Diana. Even if she disagrees, she is unlikely to have a say in the matter.

A huge wave crashes through the metal bars and soaks him to the thighs. Icy water and seaweed slosh down the insides of his boots, numbing his feet. A passage Steve learned in Sunday School as a kid comes to mind: "And as the toes of the feet were part of iron, and part of clay, they shall mingle themselves with the seed of men: but they shall not cleave one to another, even as iron is not mixed with clay." He thinks, "What will be left of me if things go south and I let Bruce go through with this?" It occurs to him that if Concordance's goal is to bring him down as a symbol of law and order, they are well on their way to success. When he goes below-deck later, and he can feel his extremities again, will his feet be iron or clay? He isn't sure he'll be able to tell which action would indicate which outcome.

He comes to a decision. He will leave for the rig before time he and Bruce had originally planned. There are at least a couple of shipman he can bribe to turn around after he leaves in the very early morning on the raft by himself, rowing if he has to for the sake of silence, leaving his friend behind. He wonders how much of his plan has to do with possessiveness or jealousy, or maybe guilt that Bruce was Diana's anchor all those times when it should have been him instead. Nevertheless, he will not allow these people to hurt or use someone who means this much to them both. He knows what is important to him, at least. Bruce's disappointment or anger, dishonorable discharge, loss of commission, and even public humiliation are of no consequence if he can rescue Diana and, hopefully, keep his friend safe.


	14. Chapter 14

While she is bound here, sleep is a weapon that strikes her from behind. Sometimes it is Hypnos' doing, but she suspects not often. She is not angry anymore. In her waking dream, she somehow slipped between the cracks of this world and the one that exists between sleep and Olympus. The hand of Artemis comforted her. Artemis, her mother's patron goddess, held and soothed her, and sent her to her brother. They made her remember. She feels re-awakened.

Diana awakens because Eris is poking her in the shoulder with something sharp. Phanes leans on the edge of a table in front of her and leers. "Good morning, your highness," Nyx practically sings. "I hope you don't mind the rude awakening, but while you were asleep, Phanes fixed your bindings to his own liking. Are the new shackles comfortable, my dear?" Diana doesn't reply. "Anyway, we have a surprise for you. Would you like to see it?" He doesn't wait for a response. He nods to Eris, who, along with Hypnos, walks out of the room. The click of her boot heels click sharply on the stone slabs of the floor, and echo down the corridor. A few moments later, Nyx puts his hand to his earpiece and says, "very well then," and then turns to his colleague and says, I suppose I'll leave you unchaperoned for a while, then. He retreats off after Eris. Diana instinctively clenches and flexes her fists in their shackles.

She closes her eyes again and inhales deeply. This place is warm and slightly damp, and smells like fear. She remembers Bruce's words. "Make friends with whatever's going on, so that it'll leave you in peace." So she breathes deeply, and lets fear, and its icy heat, creep through her. She gives it permission to settle in the bottoms of her lungs, where it pools like oil. The fear in her body grows a hundred hands, and each finger of each hand squeezes around her lungs, her heart, her abdomen. She is so cold that her body burns. She watches it burn with detached interest. "Is that all you are?" she wonders. "Physical sensation?" The fear shows her horrible pictures: she sees Steve, bound as she is, subjected to this torture. She sees every face of every dead man, woman, and child she could not save when she liberated the camps. She sees the nameless scientist at Sachsenhausen, and she sees herself slamming his head into the chemicals spilled all over his metal work table. The images come so quickly she wants to howl from the agony. Sleep doesn't assault her this time. The images assault her and Fear's hands squeeze, but they can only squeeze so hard, and the memories can only loop around her head so many times before they no longer effective.

"Only images," she reminds herself, and notices she's been holding her breath. She wills herself to inhale slowly again, paying attention to the way each muscle between each rib stretches. When she exhales, the ribs knit together again. She hasn't felt sensation in her arms or hands for a long time, she thinks. Her abdomen relaxes. She saw Steve. She saw him in that place where nothing really exists. She wonders if he saw her as well.

She is vaguely aware that her captor is leering at her, moving his fingers over her bare shoulder, playing with the few threads holding one bra strap in place. She closes her eyes. Her abdominal muscles tense. She exhales again, gives fear and anger permission to tell her why they have come, and then she lets them go. Through her closed lids, she observes a new source of light in front of her, as if someone has opened window blinds. "Open your eyes, Princess Diana, you have an audience." It is Nyx's voice piped in from another room. She obeys. "Oh no."

In a mirror image of this room, Steve is shackled to a wall. He sees her as well. She knows this because his eyes go wide and panicked. He's in his Captain America uniform, except for the helmet. His hair is unkempt, and he has a couple of days' worth of stubble. Phanes laughs. "Who goes first, Eris, you or Phanes?" Nyx asks. He flips a coin. "Heads," she hears Eris say." Nyx looks at the coin and says, "heads it is, my dear!" Phanes ignores them and leans against the wall across from Diana to watch Steve get tortured. She shuts her eyes again to find her composure.

"Breathe, Diana. You are here, in this place, right now. Find your way home from here." This is her constant reminder to herself. She softens the muscles of her chest and her jaw. She offers up a prayer to Artemis and Aphrodite, "My home and my nature are the heart. The heart is my true nature. Lead my heart from darkness into light, from the unreal to the real."

She exhales slowly. Every muscle from the crown of her head to her throat, through her heart center and into her belly unravels with the goddesses' response: "I was never born, nor can ever die, as I am not the body, mind and intellect, but the eternal, blissful consciousness that serves as the substratum of all creation." On her next inhalation, an invisible ball of energy forms between her shackled hands. It is warm and tangible. The warm energy of her own connectivity to every living thing forms a kind of blanket around her. She is perfectly safe. More importantly, she can make sure her husband is perfectly safe. The energy of her intuition is dark indigo. It is deep, almost the color of the night sky before it turns black.

The floor is warm. Everything else feels cold. There is a difference between suffering and pain. She understands this now. She stops resisting the pain. She imagines exhaling everything that she does not need. She lets go of her fight against the fear, and Fear's fists close in on themselves and self-immolate. Surrender can only lead to surrender. She regards Fear with a mixture of pity and compassion. She lets Fear go, as if she were releasing a butterfly from the palm of her hand. There is nothing to fight. She exhales through her lips, and the air feels cool. When Fear leaves her body, she senses that it is beautiful, loveable, and important. She knows it will return to her many times, in many new guises. She will not think of it until the next time.

"Open your eyes," he commands. She complies.

He taps a button on the wall and says, "Nyx, stop."

"You'll get your turn," Eris tells him impatiently.

"That's not it. Something is wrong."

Eris and Nyx put down the knives they'd been preparing and look down through the glass wall of their room, into Diana's. Steve stops struggling. Diana is changing. She is dressed in a costume Steve has never seen before. Her bodice and leggings are the darkest blue he's ever seen, and her boots, which go past the knees, are the color of the moon. Her eagle breastplate, tiara and belt match her boots: dark silver, like stars on a clear night. Only her lasso is the same. Hephaestus forged that; there is only one like it, he recalls. Her hair hangs in long, loose waves. She pulls one arm away from the wall, then the other, and the shackles fall from her wrists. What is truly striking to him though, is that she does not look angry, or even threatening. She looks absolutely…is there even a word? Centered? Regal? Deified?

Before Phanes can react, she is completely unfettered. She kicks the loose slab in the floor away and sweeps up Artemis's bow and quiver. Phanes braces himself to run, but Diana is too quick. Two arrows fly in rapid succession, pinning him to the stone floor by the wrists. The sons of Nyx's namesake, the goddess of darkness, rush into the room: Ker, the god of violent death, Orzys, the god of misery and woe, and Erebos, god of pain, fall to the ground in a flurry of silver arrows. "You are powerless when bound by Earthly men in this dimension," Phanes whispers incredulously. Diana smiles sympathetically. "You are not an Earthly man," she replies. You would have been better off keeping me bound by Nyx's hand. She drops Artemis's gifts to the ground. As she leaves the room, silver light fills the room in a great blast, and when it fades, Artemis's weapons and those who were pierced by her arrows have vanished.

By the time she finds Steve, his captors are gone, and he is asleep, presumably courtesy of Hypnos. She unchains him and guides him to the floor, kneeling and resting his head in her hands. She bends over and kisses his brow, his nose, and his mouth. "Steve," wake up. She uses almost every iota of control she has to not break down. She will not give herself permission to fall apart. He is safe. He is with her. Nothing else matters right now. "Steve, please wake up." A dark, silvery tear falls to his forehead, slides over one of his lids, and into the corner of his eye. He blinks awake, rolls onto his back and pulls her down. He holds her so tightly and presses his cheek to hers. His beard is scratchy and soft, and wet with both their tears. It takes several moments for either of them to realize there is a difference between their own bodies' shaking, the release of so much fear and sorrow, and the shaking of the floor beneath them as the rig begins its self-destruct sequence.


	15. Chapter 15

"WHAT?" Steve can barely hear Diana over the sound of walls and furniture creaking and crashing to the floor. "WHICH WAY NOW?" She repeats. Honestly he has no idea. He'd been dragged, only half-conscious on the way into the rig, and it's a large enough structure to lose your way if you aren't paying attention. The floor buckles beneath them and she falls into him. "You don't know, do you?" She accuses. She grabs his hand and makes for the nearest stairwell. By the time they realize it is blocked with a collapsed wall, the way down is flooded. Steve slams his shield into the obstacle, creating a hole for them to climb through. He pushes her ahead of him before she has a chance to protest.

When he reaches the top of the stairs he feels cold air and saltwater on his face. He accepts her extended arm as leverage to pull himself up to the platform. She is waiting for direction. She still thinks he got here on his own, and has a means of escape in mind. He's pretty sure she's figured out there's more to his story; they both have very good senses of direction. No time for that particular discussion right now. He points to the remains of a platform four levels below, at water-level, where a small cutter is tied off. Diana nods, grabs him by the waist, and they take a fast if semi-controlled head-first dive towards it just as the skies open up. Gray sky peels itself back, revealing darker gray sky.

The rain stings. He tries to hold Diana's hair back from her face so she can see where she's going. She's having a hard time moving in a straight line, and he wonders if it's the storm or if she's hurt. Wind tosses them around as if they were kites. "One kite," he thinks. He almost laughs at the trench irony—at least they'll drown together, if they aren't slammed into the concrete and steel. He makes a mental note to try a little harder not to fall back on the stereotypes he grew up with about women drivers when he's this stressed—or ever. He certainly knows better. There is no time to be astonished at how much 1930's sexist street-humor his brain's got tucked away. The squall shoves his thoughts all over the place. He leans his weight toward their target to help her navigate. It seems to work. The boat's right in their line of sight. Then there is a blast of hot air, and a sound whose force sends them zigzagging across the sky. The impact of their heads against the water feels like solid ice.

It is several seconds after the world fades from black nothingness to gray sky and fiery, angry sea. He claws his way a few meters to where Diana floats, unconscious. He waits until he has her securely by the waist, is sure she's breathing. There is a bloody gash at her hairline, where she must have hit some floating debris. Then he looks around for any kind of floating object; that cutter would be especially nice if it's still in one piece. He curses to himself as the some wreckage floats off in the distance. "That looked a lot like half of a small boat," he thinks. He makes for a flat-looking object that will hopefully hold their weight. He can barely see straight through the smoke billowing past them, and his body is numb. He looks down every few strokes to make sure he still has a grip on Diana, and that her head is still above water.

By the time he makes it to a promising piece of exploded rig, his lungs burn and his limbs are nearly stiff. He uses what's left of his strength to wheeze enough oxygen into his lungs to lift Diana onto the flotsam. It begins to sink. He pulls her off again and hugs her to him as he treads water, looking around. "God Diana I'm so sorry," he tells her, even though he knows she can't hear him. The spoken apology takes effort. He recalls his mother, and the way she would talk him through breathing during his asthma attacks as a small boy. "Fill your belly with air. Fill your whole chest up like a balloon," she would tell him. He'd wanted Diana to wear his helmet once they'd found it, but it was too big and she couldn't see through the mask. He should have insisted once they got outside. At least she might be conscious. If nothing else, she would probably be able to see a little better than he can right now. He searches for a more promising floatation device—one that will at least support her weight, which isn't much even soaking wet. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry, my angel." Talking is breathing, so he keeps up the apology, tells her about his plan to keep Bruce out of the equation altogether, that half-way to Concordance's base they intercepted him. He keeps swimming further away from the rig, anticipating secondary blasts.

A length of solid metal pipe floats by and he grabs onto it, thankful for its buoyancy. He lets go of the effort of swimming, gives himself a chance to take some shivery breaths and listen for Diana's breath, take her pulse. Their presence automatically makes him breathe a little easier. The next time a flat object floats by he grabs it with his feet and jimmies it underneath them. The solid pipe is what keeps them afloat, but at least something partially supports them now. "So where next, Princess," he says. His teeth chatter and he can't feel his lips or cheeks. "I think we might both be out of a job at this point. You think Tony'll hire us as security guards?" His speech slurs. "Because I don't want us to end up moving in with your mom." He spits out some seawater. "Crap, Diana, I'm losing my mind." He forces himself to keep talking. "'S'okay, my angel. You sleep. I'm gonna keep an eye on you and make sure you keep breathing."


	16. Chapter 16

Diana will not look at him. Instead, she stares out the window, into the clouds. Had she not been angry, regardless of her justification; had he not felt stupid and contrite, and if he's honest with himself, angry also, he'd want to draw her right now: the folds of the oversized sweatshirt over her small frame. Sometimes he is astonished at how small she really is, in spite of height and muscle. The way she carries herself is what makes her appear so substantial sometimes. He clears his throat.

"Don't try to justify your actions again right now. I'm not in the mood to hear it."

They're somewhere over Canada. The sky is bright, and the sun through the window makes him squint. It gives the impression of light enveloping Diana. Somewhere closer to home, it probably almost feels like winter is considering a change. He shields his eyes with his hand. "Can you close the window blind?"

She doesn't move. "What do you think would have happened if Tony hadn't checked on our status?" Her voice is low and even.

"We both know what would've happened." He rubs his palms over his face. Man does he need a shave. "Do we really need to talk about this again? Right now?"

She whips around and stares daggers into him. "You used one friend and abandoned another, and now Tony's in trouble and no one can find Bruce. You couldn't wait; you chose one hell of a time to defy orders and go AWOL." Steve feels his neck warm and his jaw tense. Here we go, round three. "I. Didn't. Think. It would go. That badly. Diana." He can do the monotone angry voice just as well as she can. His head begins to throb.

The armchair he's sitting in bounces through some turbulence, making Steve grip its edges. "I saw the videos. I came to get you. I'd like to think you'd at least be tempted to do the same thing had the situation been reversed." For just a moment, he allows himself a sigh of satisfaction. She can't argue that his heart wasn't in the right place.

"They were not going to kill me. It is unlikely they would have broken me badly. I was there. They needed me whole."

"I needed you HERE," Steve retorts. Unbelievable. She's telling him how to behave and think like a soldier. He makes a fist only to realize he's torn a bit of the upholstery on the chair. "You looked pretty broken to me at the time. What was YOUR brilliant plan then, general?"

"To WAIT! To be PATIENT! I'd found my way through before I knew you'd gotten yourself captured out of some farfetched idea of saving your woman! How did THAT go for you?" she shouts.

He stares at her. The only thing in his head is dry, searing heat. No thought, no language is getting in, so they just glare at each other. He's sure she knows she's hit very close to a target whose location even he's not totally aware of. The sun behind her is so bright she could be on fire right now. He's certainly on the verge of ignition.

"I meditated," she finally states. "I prayed. I surrendered to my gods and they reminded me who I was." She sounds like a teacher reprimanding a child. "I took every lesson I learned from Bruce—remember him, the one who tried to help you and now he's gone? I took every bit of advice he has given me and centered myself and was rational." She troubles herself to emphasize that last word. There it is again, the accusation of leaving a man behind. How can she not get this? Who the hell is she to lecture him on how to go into battle for the right reasons? He's commanded and lost men before. He was doing the right thing. Bruce was a target. He's told himself this enough times over the past day or so to absolutely believe it.

The righteous anger and indignation is a furnace now. He leaps to his feet and towers over her. She meets his gaze with warning in her eyes. "Whose side are you on, anyway?" he practically barks. She smiles dismissively. He can tell she thinks it's a ridiculous question. As if to confirm his suspicion, she laughs at him.

"You're jealous!" She exclaims. "You might have told yourself you were protecting him from potential capture, but really, you didn't want him near me!" She smirks and doesn't break eye contact. She practically dares him to deny it. Instead he breaks eye-contact. It's more comfortable to look past her head into the sun. He realizes in that moment that he can't deny it because she's right. The fact that she knows this before he does, that underneath utter fear of losing her was plain old jealousy and possessiveness. He might not have been willing to give up a different team member so easily, even though he changed his mind at the last minute.

The only sound between them for several moments is breath and the jet engine's low hum. "Say something, he says, letting the sun burn into his retinas.

"I was kissed by Apollo when my consciousness slipped dimensions."

He loses his balance and staggers back. "Excuse me?"

"It was chaste, like a brief conversation. Artemis sent me to him, and he presented to me his hand, and his naked truth. He brought me to the edge of the sun in his chariot. He kissed me and I knew every truth that mattered, and everything else burned away. He and Artemis cured me and returned me to you. Did you see me? I saw you."

Somewhere, in whatever tiny part of his brain is still rational and compassionate, he knows this is her way of explaining her point of view and offering an olive branch. Most of him can't get past the obvious, though. Furthermore he doesn't especially see this as a problem. "You let him KISS you? He was NAKED?"

Diana rolls her eyes. "If you don't want to know what I learned, I will not tell you." She moves to push past him, but he grabs her forearm and pulls her back. He moves a hand to each of her upper arms and holds her a few inches away from him. "Do you really understand what 'married' means, Diana?"

"There was nothing sexual or even worshipful about it. It is a way this god communicates. Would it help if I told you he delivers his important messages to Zeus this way as well?" She tries to extricate her arms but he holds them firmly. "I didn't tell you this to hurt you, my love. You asked what my plan was, and I am explaining it."

He squeezes her arms tighter. She winces, but doesn't fight back. "Had he faced me or spoken to me, I would have been obliterated. He is the god of the sun and light and poetry and truth, and he is NOT MY HUSBAND. He is NOT YOU."

"You had your mouth on another man's mouth, and you didn't push him away. I don't care if he's a god!" He can't tell whether he's yelling at her or crying. Probably both.

Diana looks down at where he's pressing his thumbs into her biceps. She takes a slow breath again. He knows Bruce taught her that centering technique and it annoys him. There is more turbulence as they fly through a thick cloud. Her voice is calmer, but still very firm when she speaks again. "You are my husband, and I love you. I love you with everything that I am. I am multitudinous. I love in many ways. I love my friends, so I love Bruce, just as I love Tony, and Natasha, and Pepper. I love my gods even when they allow me to suffer. My love for you is unique and sacred, Steve. You cannot both love me and possess me though. It is a betrayal of trust. If you want to be a god to me, if you want my unquestioning worship, be prepared to forgo any tenderness between us. The gods are sometimes merciful, but they do not love their supplicants; they are not tender toward them unless it is their whim."

He wants to close his eyes, or look past her again but she will not break eye contact. "How do you want me Steve? Shall I get the lasso? I should think we've had enough constraint for some time now, but I also know you enjoyed it more than you'd anticipated. Tell me what you want from me."

Something inside him starts to break open, as if some small egg had been warming in his chest. Every time he'd hoped she was 'his girl,' or thought of her as 'his fiancé, his wife,' is represented in a small crack in the shell. Every time some agent or friend or stranger looked at her with anything but regard or respect, and the tamped-down desire to hit that person is a crack. What leaks through makes him feel slightly sick, and he loosens his hold on her arms. He is in contact with her only so his legs don't buckle. The dry heat in his head thickens and liquefies. He can't stand up anymore, so he eases himself to the floor and she remains standing and only their fingertips touch.

She kneels in front of him and guides his face to her chest so he can hear her heart beat. She pulls him into her lap and rocks him, gently wipes away the tears, strokes his face, his beard. "I just want you to be my wife, Diana," he finally whispers. "I'll try harder. I swear I trust you. I really mean it. No more shackles."

She leans down and kisses him. Her mouth is so warm, and he inhales her scent: the beach-musk of her hair and skin, her cardamom breath. She breaks off the kiss and stands, and leads him back to their dorm room on the SHIELD jet flying them home. For the first time since their rescue, they find each other's skin again; explore the boundaries between love and need and possession. They begin the long journey of finding their way home.


	17. Chapter 17

When he sleeps, he is in battle, although with whom she can only guess. Maybe she's fighting alongside him. She hopes she is not the adversary in his dream. She lies on her arm and watches his brow furrow, his jaw clench the way it does when he is frustrated or angry. She is tempted to touch the each bit of his face that tenses and pulses; send compassion and peace to the places that cause him distress even as he rests. After she'd just laid into him about her own rescue though, she thinks better of it. She is remembering that some battles must be fought on one's own.

Instead, she cautiously gets out of bed and spreads a towel on the dingy carpet of the motel room. Outside their second-floor window, the world is white and pristine. They haven't traveled again since landing in St. Paul this afternoon. The storm is expected to end sometime in the night. The SHIELD-issued sweatshirt and pants she's been wearing since yesterday still smell chemical to her, as if they'd been wrapped in plastic for a long time. She peels off the shirt and steps out of the pants, preferring the damp cold to the tinge of factory-treated cotton on her skin and through her nose. Stepping closer to the ac/heat unit under the window, she lets dry, hot air blow directly over her bare torso and breasts.

The moon is round and reflects light off the snow. She inhales her arms overhead and presses her palms together, then reaches laterally to the right. The muscles between her left ribs separate. She inhales up and pauses, aware of the subtle changes that happen when one side has reached over and the other has not. It makes her sad in an ambiguous sort of way. She changes sides. When she returns to extended mountain pose, the sides of her torso are changed, but still different from each other. They are trying their best, she tells herself. They bend differently, but the goal is the same; when she stands tall, the bones automatically knit towards, not away from each other. Perhaps the intention of wholeness is enough for now.

She inhales from her feet up into her extended index fingers, imagines sending her breath out from her fingers into the heavens, and exhales through her mouth into a standing squat. Devi asana—the goddess' pose. Her knees come to right angles with her ankles and she slides her scapulae down the back of her ribs. Lengthening her spine; she consciously relaxes her jaw and throat. She brings her palms below her navel and rests them there. Her belly is soft and strong. Eyes closed, she observes with her hands as it stretches across her pelvic bowl, making more room for fresh air. Somewhere, a dear friend is held hostage. It didn't have to be like this. She draws her navel deep in toward her spine, willing out with the exhalation whatever she doesn't need right now: judgment, doubt, and sadness as well as muscle tension. Worry wants to stay. She allows it to sit there in her belly like some burrowing creature. It will leave when it teaches her its lesson. Nothing ever goes away until you have finally learned what you need to know from it. This is a lesson Apollo transmitted to her.

She inhales, straightens her knees and extends her arms out to her sides in a five-pointed star, and doesn't force herself to steady her mind. Instead, she exists in the knowledge that a place of stillness inside of her is present. In her imagination, she is Astraea, the star goddess, the ruler of purity, innocence, justice. She holds the pose for a long time and allows herself to lose track of time, just holding this simple, open stance. Turning her palms toward the window, she plants her feet more firmly into the ground. Her gaze softens past her reflection in the dirty glass and into the quiet, pristine parking lot and sky. Artemis and Astraea must surely be dancing right now, above the sparkling whiteness of this very late night. She imagines Astraea holding open a space for her that is all light and compassion. It is enough to know that the space is there. The heater makes whiney clunking noises as it reaches its goal temperature and then shuts down. Diana sighs. The world only looks pure and innocent. There is certainly less and less justice here, it seems. "Just breathe through it," she hears the echo of Bruce's voice. "Watch what happens when you surrender and breathe through whatever's going on in your mind and body." He is a good soul. She wonders where he is, and sends out a prayer to Olympus to help keep him from suffering.

She reaches her right arm further and further past her right foot, stretching her waist and torso parallel to the floor, and then rests her right hand on her foot, lifts the left hand to the sky into trikonasana, triangle pose. She senses into the spaces between her limbs, and all the triangles she has created: between left and right foot and her tailbone; right torso, leg, and arm; left torso, leg and arm. She thinks Steve fears that on some level that there are triangles between them and some ever-changing third party: whatever friend she spends time with, an idea she explores deeply, a mission by herself, a god. She keeps assuring him there are no triangles except the ones he conjures. All she wants is for this sense of separateness to pass. The more she wills it, the tighter its hold on her. That is how things work. Understanding and allowing are separate entities.

"It is not the fact that you came for me that is upsetting," she'd tried to explain. "I am pleased that you came. I am grateful. I am upset at the reasons you went about your rescue the way you did." It is unpleasant, having her heart center exposed like this. He could have gotten himself hurt or killed. He could have suffered. Maybe he has been tortured, just as she was, but doesn't remember. They'd figured out he had been a captive for three days. "You wouldn't charge an army base alone; why didn't you let him go with you, knowing the stakes were so high?" She knows Steve is feeling the effects of the last week. He is hurt that she is upset, because he did what in his mind was the right thing. She has been made to understand the difference between suffering and pain, though. She doesn't like that she caused him pain; she worries more for his suffering, though: his inability to get past the pain of being in pain. Her shoulder blades press deeply into her back, exposing this most vulnerable place even more, until she can no longer stand it and she cartwheels her arms into low lunge. "Where is Worry now," she asks herself. Worry is still curled into a ball at the bottom of her Diana's belly.

She moves to the center of the mat and squats deeply. Tailbone sinks down; upper arms press into her inner thighs and she once again presses her heart and sternum forward, palms press together, thumbs press to her sternum. Steve snores softly. She wonders if she is in battle when she dreams. She hopes that in her unconscious, dreaming state, Steve is not her adversary. Worry unfurls her gray body and stretches across Diana's lower abdomen, taking up more room. She moves into her low lunge on the left side. Perhaps she was too hard on him. Maybe she should not have told him what happened between the twin gods and her: hidden that particular triangle. Sometimes she thinks she will never find the balance between truthfulness and compassion in her speech. At home, her first home, forthrightness was so important, so there would be no question of her judgments in domestic matters. In this world, forthrightness is called bluntness; her truth, when she speaks it, is heavy as Thor's hammer. She must learn the difference between employing Athena's wisdom as judge and Aphrodite's lovingkindness as half of a couple. She wants him to know everything because she loves him and he says he wants to know; then she hurts him with her truth. Perhaps learning along the journey is all there is. The idea is comforting. She lifts back up into triangle on the other side, her five pointed star, goddess, and quarter-moon, back into extended mountain, completing Chandra Namaskar, the moon salutation.

His faded reflection in the window combines with her own when she opens her eyes. "How long have you been awake?" She likes the representation of his mirror image fading into her own. They are separate and whole simultaneously.

"A while. Naked demi-goddess doing yoga is more interesting than sleeping." She turns around to look at him. Motel stationary and pencils are strewn over the bedspread. He sweeps them aside for her to join him. She presses her back into his torso and he drapes his arm over her waist. She kisses his fingers. "Is it easier for you to think of me as not human?" She senses the change in energy and understands she misspoke. The mechanics and the meaning of English are completely different things. "What I mean is that I was a goddess; now I am mortal. I don't know what kind of creature I am. Is the label important?" He says nothing and plays with her fingers. "Are we okay?"

Steve laces his fingers between hers and squeezes gently. "It's a compliment, or at least it's meant to be one, because I see you as perfect—even the parts on the inside that aren't perfect. He glances over at the small studies of her body he'd drawn. I'm not gonna lie, Diana. I look at you and see goddess, and princess, and angel, and perfect grace and beauty. I know there's more to you than that." He smiles and taps the space above the bridge of her nose. I'm well aware of the strange mess on the inside. So yeah, of course we're okay. I love the complicated jumble even more than I love the package it's wrapped in."

They're quiet for a few minutes. Steve plays with the end of her braid and starts whistling the song they danced to at their wedding. Diana sighs. "Living in a Cole Porter musical sounds nice right now. It sounds very UN-jumbled."

He sings a few bars into her ear. "Will I leave you, never?/ Could the ocean leave the shore? /Will I worship you forever? /Isn't heaven forever more? Do I love you, do I? /Oh, my dear, it's so easy to see,  
Don't you know I do? /Don't I show you I do,/ Just as you love me."

She rolls over to face him and exaggerates a pained expression. "As long as you don't have a singing part." She kisses the tip of his nose. It gets a small chuckle out of him.

"I meant what I said this morning on the plane," He continues. I trust you. I can't promise I'll be okay with what happened for a long time, though. I mean, I get that it wasn't even really YOU you, but some other you…"

Diana interrupts, "It gets confusing quickly," she admits. "In reality, if it helps, it was me, but not my body as you know it, and not really my mind making decisions."

He smirks. "Clear as mud. But you know what I mean. I guess in my head it makes sense, sort of, but some part of you was very up-close and personal with a god—from what I understand a particularly desirable one—and I don't know when I'll really get over that. But I will. I'm pretty confident that I will." Worry shrivels a little bit in Diana's gut, allowing her to breathe deeper.

"Y'know, I pay attention. You breath starts to get just a little shaky when you're about to cry." He tilts her chin up to face him and they lock eyes. "I'm not angry at you, sweetheart. I just don't know what to do with this. They healed you and helped you to find your strength, but I can't help thinking they took something also, even if it was something that, as you made clear, wasn't mine to begin with." There is a drop of sadness in his voice, and in his eyes. "They didn't," she replies gently. She wishes she could take this morning's conversation back; erase the entire argument.

"I'll have to take your word for it, then."

"Please forgive me one day. I love you so much Steve. I would never deliberately hurt you, and I am so sorry." This is one of those moments of choosing, she thinks. She is sorry for this pain she's instigated. She is not sorry that Apollo healed and helped her. This is how he often did things, from the stories she's heard. Her existence on and experience of the dreamscape world is very different from that of her experience on any plane of Terra. Had Apollo and Artemis not helped her, Steve and she surely would have died in the water. Even if they still had been rescued by the search party, had she not been healed, she would still be ill each time she was exposed to the negative energy of the minor gods and the technology they've given their human puppets. But she wishes it had been different at the same time. She wishes she could reassure him; that he could understand. Perhaps there is wisdom in saying less, only conveying the sentiment. She hopes she is learning.

"I do, and I know, and I love you too. I'll keep telling you that all my life and mean it every time," he replies after a few seconds. "Never, ever doubt how I feel about you. And terms of affection aren't labels or meant to make you feel like an object. I meant it when I said I trust you, and that I want you to be honest. Even though I'm really glad they helped you in their own weird way, I'd be pretty happy for you never to have contact with your wonder-twins again."

Diana cringes. "Ugh, don't call them that. It makes my skin crawl! And anyway, they are gods. They are my gods, and I need them sometimes. It isn't my place to question them; I don't get to control how or when they choose to intervene. But I wasn't seeking out any particular encounter. I don't have the right to that, like my mother does."

"Yeah, I guess that makes them sound like a couple of really lame, adolescent superheroes, doesn't it?" They both giggle over the idea. "I didn't mean to belittle your religion." She brings his knuckles to her mouth and kisses them. She tries to allow herself the space to be sensitive and moody, and to make room for his own conflicted feelings as well. They are both entitled to that much.

They lay side by side in the dark for a long time, listening to the heater turn itself on and off at intervals. Very gradually, the light turns worm-purple, and pulses through the snow-streaked window. In the absence of sleep, they wait, absorbed in the dingy cocoon of this motel room, waiting for daybreak. They listen for their SHIELD-borrowed phones to alert them to news when it will be time to re-enter this world…this world which feels very still and very fragile.


	18. Chapter 18

When Steve makes his way from the corner drugstore back home, it is still early and cold and gray. Frosty mist clings to his hair and his beard—this beard which Diana implied, but never insisted, had to go. So new razor blades and shaving cream, along with a few sundry items in bag, he trudges his way through icy slush up the sidewalk and then up the stairs to the third floor of the brownstone.

The immediate debriefing upon landing could have waited. To Steve's relief, he and Diana still have jobs for now; Maria Hill had run interference for Steve, and Diana couldn't be faulted for being abducted directly from SHIELD. The more important question, of course, is how that could have happened. Most of Agent Coulson's team has taken up that investigation because SHIELD has been three Avengers short. Technically, they still are. His time AWOL is not without consequences. His presence at SHIELD, for now, is in an observational capacity only. Natasha, Thor, and Tony have been dealing with riots all over the continental U.S. with various degrees of success (i.e., low collateral damage). Diana pointed out that there was ONLY collateral damage. "The riots have no target except for violence itself," she observed. She didn't bother trying to hide how sad that makes her.

However, she'd promised over the phone that she'd had new insight while she was in captivity. "This isn't merely a fight among mortals," she reported, "and I now believe that these small-scale violent episodes are going to remain small-scale." It was nearly midnight, The District was a solid sheet of ice, and even Maria didn't look as if she really wanted to be there. They were all three worn-down and fueled by caffeine alone.

"Mr. Backus is a not very clever play on the word Bacchus. I believe that the Concordance Group is the face of a Dionysian cult. The fact that his brother, Apollo, went out of his way to assist me speaks to this. He is the god of reason and the rational; Dionysus is the god of chaos and the irrational. I believe this is the human aspect of a war between two Olympians. I believe the followers of Dionysus have forcibly recruited Bruce, and maybe, Apollo has more subtly co-opted my assistance by healing me." Steve wasn't especially surprised by this, and he was too tired at that point to be angry. He should have been able to save her before she'd been sucked into a war that didn't necessarily concern them, except for its effects on their own Earthly plane.

When they finally dragged themselves up to the apartment, Diana carefully hung up her coat, neatly placed her rumpled SHIELD-issued sweats into the hamper, and showered. There is still a routine to follow even after chaos. He smiles at the memory of her finally emerging from the bathroom, waterdrops slicking down her breasts and beading where nipples and towel met. He thinks about the curve of her hips sheathed beneath the white towel, the narrow sweep of her waist, and how she smiled when she caught him gaping at her. Her mouth made him think of the shadowy place hidden under her towel. Even dog-tired, he couldn't deny some basic mammalian instinct that her presence, just as she was, finally home, stirred in him. She hung up her towel on its hook, opened up a dresser drawer and pulled out an old baseball jersey of his and a pair of panties. She was dead-asleep in moments, and it took what felt like forever for him to calm down again and sleep. When he left this morning, she rolled over and draped her arm across his side of the bed. No matter how much she protests the label, because she is so literal sometimes, she really did look like an angel.

"I miss your face," she'd told him in the motel while the plane was grounded. "It's handsome no matter what, but I do miss your skin." He could tell she was leaving something unsaid. When pushed, she admitted she didn't like his hair in her mouth. He'd laughed at her, but now it is barely past dawn, and he is returning home from an important errand. He balances the bag's handle over his forearm and distributes the five of the six cups of coffee he's got in a cardboard carrier to the men in the side alley. The men huddle on plastic milk crates around a fire they've set in a graffiti-covered trash can. The shelter does not open for another two hours. The alley is strewn with the days-old junk food remnants, foam cups, and miscellaneous debris they've emptied onto the street. These denizens and their surroundings all smell slightly toxic. They mumble things like "peace brother," and "thanks man," and he wishes he could do more. He drinks the last coffee even though it's scalding. He enjoys the burning sensation on his tongue.

At the stoop that leads up to his building, he pauses and looks at the monotone sky. "Wherever you are right now Sun God, thanks for bringing her back to me. I still don't trust you, but I'm grateful." He locks their apartment door behind him and he hears music from the living room—that improvisational jazz Diana likes. Her back is turned to him, and the music is loud enough for her not to notice that he's watching as she dances around in that old Yankees top and pink bikini underwear. The curve of the shirt slips from side to side past the small of her back as she rocks her hips in circles. She brings her hands to the nape of her neck and lifts her long, black hair away from her back. Her spine looks much more fluid and fragile than he knows it actually is. Her entire torso undulates to the dissonant angles of Theloneous Monk's music.

When she turns around and notices him, she smiles, but doesn't stop dancing. Her teeth are small and even; there is the visceral memory of their sharpness on his ears. Her lips are stung, as if she's been swallowing saltwater. Sometimes everything about her, no matter where she is, reminds him of the beach and of her literal otherworldliness. He's mesmerized, as if this was the first time he'd ever walked in on her dancing. Her breasts press against the white front of her shirt: every curve and the tips of her dark pink nipples and he feels as if he already tastes them just by looking. He swallows hard, but doesn't dare break the spell by moving or speaking. Then she runs her fingers across her collar bones, down the center of her torso over her flat stomach, to the edge of her shirt. She plays with the hem, which drapes just past the top edge of her pink cotton panties, and approaches him. She stands a few inches away, just enough for him to smell the spicy sweetness of her breath. She brings her bright ocean eyes to meet his and then kneels in front of him. His breath catches. She picks up the drugstore bag he's dropped and stands again. "This first," she says authoritatively. She takes him by the hand and leads him into the bedroom, past the bed and into the bathroom with the bag of razors and shaving cream.

She leans into him and he grips the edges of the vanity bench because she's already warned him about touching her while she's shaving his face. "You're in no shape to do this yourself, she'd observed as she ran her index finger beneath his waistband," and you certainly need to stay still. I've never done this before. Even with that admission, he has no reservations whatsoever about the safety of his jugular at the mercy of a sharp blade in her hands. He does his best to stay still but even so, each time she reaches past him to rinse the blade or towel his face, her body rises from some invisible sea and he holds onto the bench because he will capsize into her if he lets go. With each sweep of thin metal, there is less difference between the razor or her mouth gliding over his jawline, or the sharp edges of her teeth just above his upper lip and the corners of his mouth.

When she pronounces her task complete, he stands up very carefully because what he really wants is to dive into her right now. Instead he steadies himself by placing one hand over her shoulder, and she slithers up the length of his body. Her nipples are erect through her shirt, and they glide over his bare torso. He wants to tear off her clothes and lift her breasts one at a time to his mouth. Instead, he scoops her up and carries her to their bed. She climbs over him and dips down to pull off his sweatpants and boxers. She circles her tongue over his balls, the hollow space to the side of each hip bone, and from the base of his penis to its head. Then she pops back up to face him and she explores his face with her mouth. Even her kisses sting like saltwater. "The beard absolutely had to go," he agrees. But so does this," and he sits up, pulls the shirt over her head and bites gently down on one nipple. Her response is one of his favorite sounds in the world.

Her fingers move back down to where he presses into her panties, which are damp. She rips the fabric away and tosses it aside. They rock into each other and he never wants it to stop. He might cease breathing altogether if they stop so he rolls on top of her and keeps moving his fingers down her spine, which undulates like waves. Or maybe he is made of waves and saltwater. Perhaps there simply is no land anymore. Her skin is ocean and seabed and shoreline all at once. She begins to shake and her breath comes in gasps; his heart quickens and he remembers what it feels like to almost drown. When she involuntarily presses her hips up and into him she says his name—not any god's, just his. There is that feeling in his balls and his whole body seems to awaken from a kind of trance. Many decades ago he was drowning and freezing and she rescued him. Now he gasps as he comes up for air and she rescues him again and again and again.


	19. Chapter 19

Diana scoots into the corner of the sofa, pulls her knees to her chest and hugs her calves. The gray leather sofa is one of the very few items that made it from her old apartment to this newer one with Steve. Decoration had always been a low priority for her, much to Steve's frustration when they moved into their home. In Themyscira, decoration is sparse, natural, and synchronous with the environment. Themyscira is not affected by the seasons of Demeter's moods; even ceilings weren't an absolute necessity in buildings. Right now, this late winter is very much a product of Demeter's mood—and Demeter has been furious of late. Outside, the wind howls and dark gray clouds march across the sky. They remind Diana of the color of bruises. Broken, icy branches attack the outer walls and windows of the apartment. The day suited her mood well. She flipped through news channels.

On one station, Senator Belinda Nero, member of the Senate Committee on Parahuman Affairs, is holding a press conference. She stands outside the Capital Building, the wind smacking her red, expensive-looking scarf into her dark red-lipsticked mouth. "…absolutely inconsistent with American family values," she is saying to reporters. "We are in the process of reassessing whether America needs Wonder Woman as a symbol of leadership, or whether she has American interests at heart."

Diana is reminded of the last few days of her visit home. She'd brought Steve with her. She was there because of Steve, actually. She thinks of the last conversation she'd had with her mother there. It was early morning, and pink sunlight immersed her mother's open chamber with warmth. She sat at Hippolyta's knee and leaned on her lap like she did as a child. Hippolyta stroked Diana's long, silky hair and fought back tears. Diana cried, too, but only a little bit. There was a slight breeze that morning. Purple petals and small, sharp leaves swept across the marble floor and grazed their skin. The heady scent of lilacs wafted past them and drifted away with the wind. "You've chosen to abandon your people, my dear daughter," Hippolyta said quietly. We will always love you, but I do not think any of us will completely forgive you."

That morning last year, she had confirmed her decision: home was wherever Steve went. Her mother sobbed into the sweet-scented wind. It was all or nothing with Hippolyta; Themyscira will never be her home again. This is home because Steve is here. Right now, it comforts her to have representation of who he is all around her. On Themyscira though, there were marble and sand and hanging gardens. Diana hadn't considered decoration in her own apartment until she and Steve had combined their things, donated overlapping items, and merged their lives.

Most of the furniture is dark walnut wood with rounded flourishes on the edges against cream-colored walls. Planks of the darkly-stained wood floor peek out from blue and yellow throw rugs with art-deco prints. There are touches of 1930's memorabilia throughout: reproductions of old movie posters, a few War mementos such as a defunct grenade and an old, framed black and white picture of him as Captain America, posing with the Howling Commandos. In the office, Steve has a framed print from the late 1940's. It is a picture of her as Wonder Woman posing as a pinup girl for the troops. If there wasn't a flat-screened TV on one wall, a visitor might even wonder if they'd stepped back in time.

She contemplates how the integration of physical objects and personal lives are in some ways the same thing. She doesn't have a lot of things per se, but this is still home. She doesn't need physical objects, really, as constant reminders of who she is…or who they are. Pictures of them together fill a shelf across the room: little moments some reporter or fan caught on camera, which one friend or another would inevitably scan and send to Diana. She rests her gaze on a wedding picture in a silver frame and thinks of that unseasonably warm fall day. The sun bathed everyone with warmth and it brightened the green, gold and red leaves rustling in the light breeze. She recalls the faint smell of cinnamon that infused the air that early evening. She thinks of Steve in his mess uniform, how his dark blue eyes shone with emotion as she approached him. Diana looks down at her rings. Physical objects are important and sentimental, but not necessary. She is sure of that. Symbols and feelings are not the same things. Only love matters. After everything else happens; and under every other emotion or thought, this is the real truth of things.

On CNN, Senator Fred Cray, also on the Senate Committee on Parahuman Affairs, repeats the talking points. He sits behind a desk wearing a navy-blue suit, red tie, and an obvious-looking toupee. "Wonder Woman's liberalism and pro-abortion stance set a poor example for the girls and young women who look up to her," he tells the cameras. He adds that her costume is revealing, and from this we certainly can question her moral and personal values. Apparently this last bit also causes conjecture about how often she is seen working only with Captain America. Footage of the night in front of the movie theater appears in the corner of the Fox News screen. Could Wonder Woman be a home-wrecker?

"Why are you watching this garbage?" Steve asks as he walks in. He hands her a cup of tea.

"Evidently I'm destroying your marriage," she says in a monotone voice.

He sits at the other end of the sofa with his coffee and spreads the newspaper across the space between them. "You're telling me," he replies. "You're a terrible cook!" Diana smirks and tosses a throw pillow at him; he catches it and throws it back. On MSNBC, the Committee Leader, Percy Fremont, who is boyish-looking and progressive, also makes these points as Director Fury frowns behind him, arms folded. Wonder Woman cannot be trusted to protect our nation and she is most certainly a bad role-model for girls and young women. Diana turns off the TV's sound and just watches the headlines scroll by. Riots, violence, and death are all over the place. Right now, she misses her mother a little bit, and she misses her lifelong home. There are good reasons why Hippolyta scorns the inhabitants of Patriarch's World. She takes a few more swallows her tea, which she has allowed to get cold. "I suppose it could be worse; The Concordance Group could have leaked my identity."

They sit for a while as Steve contemplates this. "They still may," he considers. The bruised clouds darken and hail knocks against the window. It thumps into the snow and slush below. "We need to be very careful about all of this." Diana says nothing. She tightens her lips into a grimace and groans. "We should talk to Director Fury and Assistant Director Hill and weigh the pros and cons of keeping you under wraps," he continues.

Diana glances at the screen. "I think we might be too late." On the screen are three pictures: Steve, herself in her civilian identity, and Wonder Woman. The headline flashes: "BREAKING NEWS: Wonder Woman Identity Revealed."


	20. Chapter 20

Steve folds up his newspaper and walks to the large, paned window overlooking the street. She uses her hand to make a circle on the moisture-fogged glass and looks outside at the purple-black clouds. Leaves and small branches that have been ripped from their trees go streaking through the air along with icicles, occasionally thumping towards him. He sighs. "There's gotta be a way to do some damage control," he states. "We'll come up with something to fix this."

Diana unwinds herself from the sofa and joins him at the window. "Demeter is angry and sad. She misses her daughter." He puts his arm over her shoulders and pulls her close. She leans her head on him. "And yet," she continues, "I have never heard of Demeter actually visiting Persephone in Hades. She blames her brother for the loss of her daughter."

"Sounds familiar," Steve replies quietly. "Do you miss her?"

Diana says nothing. They stare out at the horizontal rain for several moments. When the lights blink and go out. A vanilla-scented candle glows on the coffee table. "At least now we can't watch the news," he says. Diana extricates herself from Steve's hold and walks to the candle. She carries it to the kitchen, and Steve follows. He locates the drawer that contains the flashlights and taper candles, and they set about illuminating the apartment. The candles create white auras throughout. Diana looks more otherworldly and angelic than ever, he thinks, as they make their way back to the living room. "You didn't answer my question."

She turns toward him. Her skin is luminous in the dark. "I do miss her sometimes," she replies. "In Themyscira, there was no need to conceal who I was. I was the princess, the champion of our land, and also Diana and no distinction ever had to be made. I can't go back there anymore. Here, I am two people, but if I reveal my two identities we will never have privacy or peace. I can never be whole. I don't know where I belong."

He takes a few steps over to her and hugs her to his chest. They listen to the rain and hail splatter against the window and onto the ground outside. "Hey," he says, taking up her left hand. "See those two rings? You belong with me. You said so yourself that very first time, remember?" He kisses her hand and hugs her again. "Not having a secret identity isn't all that bad. I mean, sometimes you have to wear a ball cap and dark glasses, but people usually leave you alone once the novelty wears off." She responds with another deep breath. Steve wonders at how moody she has been lately. "Look," he says, and cups her face in his hands. "It's gonna be okay. I mean, when we get around to starting a family people are gonna put two and two together if Wonder Woman's pregnant, right?"

She moves away from him and goes back to the window, where the rain spatters and smears her reflection. "I hardly think that's a consideration for right now. In the past two weeks we've been captured and tortured, one of our closest friends is missing and probably being experimented on, and now this. How am I supposed to protect people if their trust in me is compromised?"

"Come away from the window," he tells her. "Please." She turns around. Sometimes, he thinks, she is so beautiful his heart might break open. When she approaches him, he once again enfolds her, guiding her head to his shoulder. She wraps her arms around his waist this time. "One way or another it's gonna be okay," he says, even though he isn't entirely sure what 'okay' means. He's sure she doesn't believe it, but she looks at him with eyes that are calm sea. "Do you really think so?" He hesitates, nearly losing himself in her gaze. "I hope so, sweetheart. I guess it depends on what part of life we're talking about."

They stand in the cold candlelight holding onto each other, listening to the storm outside. "What WILL you do, y'know, when that happens?"

"I haven't given it much more thought," she replies. "It isn't an issue at the moment. Right now I want to fix what's happening in the world, save our friend and enjoy being a couple, without worrying about the future too much. Why are you so fixated on procreation lately? Are you in a hurry?"

He kisses her forehead. "Not really I guess," he says. "I kind of like the idea though. I mean, if it happens you're not thinking of, uh, NOT having it are you?"

"It's unlikely. But for me it's a matter of practicality. I do want that life with you: the one that we saw in the vision, just not yet." She leans her head against his heart and he rests his chin on top of her head. The wind thumps against the windows so hard the building shakes, and the candlelight's' haloes ripple across the room. "Is it really that important to decide what to do now? Why can't you let this go?"

He squeezes his eyes tight and scrunches his hand through her hair. He doesn't know why. Or maybe he does know, but doesn't want to say. "Please tell me, because I am having trouble understanding," she says into his shirt, and the words sink through his skin. He sighs heavily and listens to the storm rage. "Because," he eventually replies, "we disagree in theory and I'm worried about what might happen in practice. Because I'm afraid you might not want a kid as much as I do. Because we aren't using anything and we're letting nature take care of itself. Because we're doing that since we don't know if either of us even can have kids, in reality, except for some prophesy your mother showed you. Because…"

She smiles up at him and his stomach flutters, his knees go just a little bit weak, he loses his entire train wreck of thought. It's her in this light. He's absolutely powerless against those kind eyes and that patient smile. She could get him to agree to anything right now. Every time she looks at him and their eyes meet, he is lost. He focuses on her parted lips. Without willing it, his posture relaxes. "You really have no idea what you do to me, do you?" He says quietly. It's more of a statement than a question. In response, she reaches up and softly touches his face. It makes his nerve endings tingle and he shivers from his scalp down to his groin. "You worry too much." Her voice is barely above a whisper. "Convince me. Help me believe that I can be a wife and a hero and one day a mother. Convince me that I am already one whole person, without any labels at all."

His throat grows thick and he can feel his pulse quicken. He bends his neck and tilts his head toward hers. When he kisses her, her lips and tongue are soft and warm. They taste and smell lightly honeyed from her tea. He runs the tip of his tongue over her mouth, savoring, and then pulls his head back slightly. "I know you're all those things because you're you," he whispers. "And you're not in this alone. I'm here." She brushes her lips against his jugular and he leans in and kisses her again. Her tongue darts between his lips and he pulls it in with his own mouth. The wind whips itself into frenzied howls and he tries to shake that feeling of protective possessiveness again. "She's mine before she's anyone else's, including the world's, especially the media's," he thinks. He knows it isn't true, any more than it is of himself. She's completely autonomous. He's known that from the moment they met. She is with him because this is the path she's chosen. She's his partner and his anchor. Each of them is a symbol, regardless of politicians; they are protectors of the public; they are members of a unique team whose purpose is service. Neither of them would have it any other way, even as he floats his fingers down her spine, and she responds with the softest sigh and presses into him. "We could be just this," he thinks. "We could be just this moment and nothing else would matter."

Their cellphones ring simultaneously. "Guess duty calls," he said unhappily. They part and Diana grabs a flashlight from an end table. They gather their gear, snuff the candles and, as ordered, leave home once again to make their way to the building's foyer. They wait for the car that would take them to SHIELD's heliport hangar annex. "I wonder where we're going," he muses, trying to lighten the mood. "Hopefully not Alaska again!" She grins back at him and squeezes his hand. "You should commission a wet suit and an inflatable raft in your pack, just in case," she jokes back.


	21. Chapter 21

What's left of the team is already in the van that evening when it comes for Diana and Steve. An agent introduces himself, salutes Steve, and loads up their bags. The van lurches onto the street before they even situate themselves. From the back, The van is set up more like a mobile strategy room than a van. The seats form a U-shape around three sides, except for the sliding door on the passenger side of the vehicle. There is a table in the middle, on which a map of a container yard is spread. Without greeting them, Natasha points to the northern quadrant of the map and states, "We're pretty sure Bruce is being kept here. The riots radiate out from that point." She draws imaginary lines out from a structure in a cone shape."

"And good day to you too," Steve replies as he glances down at where Natasha points. She ignores him and continues the information download: they are heading to Delaware, where SHIELD scientists have correlated larger concentrations of civilian violence with high levels of gamma radiation energy. "It's likely this is where Concordance is experimenting on Bruce," Tony adds. "The question is what the end game is all about…and welcome back to active status," he adds, nodding to Steve. Steve nods back, and then watches as the buildings of his neighborhood disappear in the fog and snow: bare, bent trees that line the sidewalks, brownstones covered with layers of salt and dirt. He focuses on the faint stripe which winds before and after them, leading them away from all the comforts and anxieties of home, into the infinity of gray sky, gray earth, gray road.

"I have a theory about that." Diana's voice draws him back into the here and now. She folds the map over and pulls a sheet of blank newsprint from a drawer under the table. With a marker, she makes a large circle. She loops another one over it, creating a Venn diagram. In one circle, she writes, "Dionysus," and then "chaos;" in the other, "Apollo" and "order." She says, "You already know this bit from my report to Maria, just before Steve and I were put on temporary leave. I understood this from when I was taken by the lesser gods."

Clint interrupts, "You were kidnapped by gods?"

"You should've seen the escape," Steve tells him. You would've turned in your quiver and bow and retired." The van is dry and hot with recycled air. He worries about Diana overheating again, even though it hasn't been a problem over the last few days. He looks around for a window to crack open, thinking even fresh freezing air would improve the thick, stale atmosphere.

Diana appears unaffected. She continues her explanation. In the Dionysus circle, she writes "chthonic forces, excess, emotion, unconstrained lust/procreation, inclusive, frenzy." Tony grins. "Nothing wrong with most of that!" On the Apollo side, she writes "rationality, reason, temperance, ethics, separation, science, strategy." Then she looks at Tony and says, "Do you not value this as well? Which do you prefer? This is the human side of a fight among the gods themselves. We are pawns." In the small connecting circle, she writes, "freedom." She places her finger on the word and says, "These are the forces at work, and this is what is at stake. The Concordance Group took me because I am too much of an anomaly for their ends; I have too much self-control. It is also why Apollo and Artemis helped free me. They took Bruce because he is easier to control. They can use him as an example of the triumph of anarchy over order. They plan to use him to tilt the scientific and rational bent of current humankind toward the emotional and mystical."

Tony frowns. "Control one variable to create too many others to control, and then let the world sort itself out. Interesting theory."

"So what you're telling us," Clint says, "is that the Concordance Group is the human and corporate face of some ancient cosmic war of ideologies?"

Steve nods. "Aren't most wars redundant, at least on some level?"

Two hours into the ride, Steve has carefully planned an attack and rescue strategy, and from then, it is a matter of patience. He closes his eyes and leans his head back on the seat. "You really are the most immodest person I've ever met," he hears Natasha say with a touch of admiration. He feels Diana shrug next to him. He opens his eyes halfway and looks over at her. She's stripped down to her running bra and uniform leggings. "There's no embarrassing her," he agrees, shutting his eyes again. "It's hot in here," Diana replies. He knew he'd been right to worry. As if reading his mind, she squeezes his hand and tells him, "I'm okay."

"Hey, you're not getting any complaints from us," Tony says. "Can you lean across the table and hand me a pencil, Diana?" Clint adds. Without opening his eyes Steve says, "You're not getting a rise out of me. I'm used to it." He focuses on the sound of the van slowly pushing against the storm. The tires of this SHIELD-issued van are thick, and the treads hug tightly to the slippery road beneath them. They are skating rather than driving, it seems.

He hears Natasha whisper something to Diana, and the two women laugh. Diana whispers something back and they laugh even harder. A few moments and several exchanges later, he knows that they're both crying from laughing so hard. When they calm down, he looks around the table. Tony looks amused and curious; Diana and Natasha look directly out the window, as if making a point of not making eye contact. "As happy as it makes me to hear you laugh, I can't help feeling a little paranoid right now." Diana folds her arms on the table and drops her head down, cracking up again, which starts Natasha again. "We probably really are better off not knowing, buddy," Tony tells him.

Four hours into the drive, almost everyone is asleep. Natasha is curled up in the corner against the window, propped up on her balled up jacket. Steve takes out his phone and snaps a picture of Tony and Clint leaned into one each other, mouths agape, snoring. "What were you two whispering about?" he finally whispers. Diana smiles slyly. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Uh, yes?"

"She dared me to do come up with something that would make you blush, like I did when we were first intimate in our relationship—before you made up some rules."

"Oh dear god, please don't." Just the idea of it makes his skin prickle, and he shudders. Diana kisses his cheek and places her hand on his thigh under the table. "Relax," she assures him. Given her hand's position on his thigh and the way she has begun to massage it, relaxing seems ill-advised.

Several moments pass quietly, save for a few light snores from fellow sleepy Avengers. The dull air and engine's hum lulls Steve to relax in spite of himself. He could rest if not for his wife's hand, which has crept up to his hip crease. Diana may or may not realize her own casual strength, but he suspects she does. Even though he is wearing his protective Captain America gear, he still feels the light pressure of her fingers brushing just near his groin. "What are you thinking about right now?" she asks quietly. "Baseball statistics, license plates that belong to New Jersey cars on the road, stuff like that." She kisses him again. "Are you bored?"

"I'm trying to be bored." He isn't sure how much pleading there is in his voice, rather than the steadiness he's aiming for.

Diana yawns and lays her head down on his lap. "Very well then." He feels her relax, and even though she hasn't moved her hand, at least she is perfectly still. He settles back and relaxes his shoulders. He places his hand over his wife's head and calls her "my sweet angel."

"I'm not asleep, she replies quietly. She turns to look up at him and, to his relief, moves her hand further away from a very sensitive place. "And I'm not an angel. What is an angel but a sexless entity that only indirectly exists in the world? Don't call me that—I don't like it. I don't want to be an angel. I am a woman. We both prefer it that way, furthermore." Steve moves his hand to cup her face. "A woman that may not be good at embarrassing me," he says, "but never ceases to throw me for a loop. Okay, I'll do my best to remove the word from my lexicon of affection," he whispers back smiling. "Admit that you take my better, considerate nature for granted." He stifles a laugh. "You don't have a vindictive or ignoble bone in your demigoddess, ANGELIC body."

She rests her head in his lap again, and murmurs, "You'll be sorry." He grins and leans his own head back on the seat. The van slowly lurches along. He watches the cars creep along as snow and ice blow across the highway. The rhythm of the van's slow traction on the road lulls him if not into sleep, then at least into deep rest. He isn't sure how long it takes him to realize that he's actually clenching Diana's braid in his fist, or that it is not the friction of tires on the road that is causing his body to move. "Diana," he whispers, "what do you think you're doing?" No reply. "I know you're not asleep," he quietly mutters between his teeth. No reply.

"Okay," he thinks, as he stares out at the mile markers. "Lou Gehrig. 1937. 157 games, 700 plate appearances, 569 at bats, 200 hits, just please don't undo my pants if you're gonna keep your hand there. World Series at bats, 4 hits, 5 runs, no, wait, other way around. This isn't working. His brain wants to shut off and he is quietly mortified. Buddy Hassett. 137 games, 595 plate appearances…nope." He gives up. "Okay, you win," he hisses. You're still very capable of giving me public grief, are you happy now?" He groans softly and swears revenge. She remains silent, but gently pats the bulge in his pants.

"Hey Steve, where'd Diana go? Is she up front now?"

"NOWHERE!" he insists, a couple octaves higher than he'd meant. He plops both hands onto the table. He's sure his neck and face are as red as they are hot. Diana yawns and says "Quiet down, some of us are trying to get some rest!" He moves his hand to her cheek and traces the letter "A" for "angel." She sucks his index finger into her mouth and gently bites down. "Y'know," Steve says. I think an old buddy's UNCLE used to live near Dover back in the day. From one seat over, he can swear he hears Natasha chuckle. Or maybe he's just paranoid; either way, he and Diana were going to have another little discussion later.

Outside, the night has gone black. Wet snow pellets the car and the road, reminding Steve of a moving attack. For a moment, he is almost in Europe again. It might be 1940 again, but Diana is next to him and has just whispered "truce," and his comrades in arms are looking over the map and attack plan again. He turns away and makes a clear circle on the fogged glass. He looks outside to the upcoming tollbooth that leads to the Delaware Bridge.


	22. Chapter 22

The van drops them off three blocks from the container yard and drives off. Thor steps out from a shadowy alley and joins them. They nod at each other in greeting. Steve looks ahead. The yard looks like a small-scale city in the dark. A single streetlight fizzles in and out. The team quietly begins its descent down the hill, toward their target with Tony leading the way, using his sensors to seek out the gamma signatures that will lead them to Bruce.

"I think they're expecting us," Natasha says quietly, looking ahead down a row of cubes, toward a low-ceilinged warehouse. "It's too quiet. It's a trap."

"Maybe so," Thor replies, but we have no choice but to enter. Steve kicks the warehouse doors in. The room is dark and empty except for a few low stacks of wooden crates. "Okay, here's how we pair up," he begins, but he is alone. The rest of the team has already split up in search of clues. He shakes his head and wonders why he even bothers with plans. He silently agrees with Natasha, though. It is too quiet in here. He can hear the footfalls of his fellow Avengers as they echo across the bare floors. It is almost impossible to see more than a few inches in front of him at a time. He hears the low breathing of someone near him. The room abruptly fills with fluorescent light as he thrusts out his hand and grabs an unidentified person by the neck. "Steve!"

He releases Diana. "Sorry." Diana glares at him, and then points to a large crate standing by itself. She walks toward it and motions him to follow. When the team assembles around it, Steve lifts the lid and looks down at a stairwell. They file in and head down the steep, well-lit stairs, which end in a wide, also well-lit hallway. He stands up just as another explosion lifts him off his feet, sending him, along with Thor, Natasha and Clint, sliding towards a newly opened crater in the middle of the floor. Before he hits the ground below, there is a metallic whoosh as Iron Man grabs him by the waist and lowers him to the ground. Thor lands in a crouch a few feet away; Wonder Woman glides onto the floor with one arm around Natasha and the other around Clint. Lab tables filled with scientific apparatus fill the cavernous room.

Steve looks around to estimate how many enemies surround them. There are well over a dozen, he quickly surmises, and as Natasha predicted, no one seems surprised to see them. He moves his hand to signal everyone to spread out; just as he begins his direction, the floor rocks, jolting him and his teammates across the room with explosive force. Steve sprawls along the floor, barely keeping his grip on his shield as he crashes into a small metal cart. Glass shards scatter around him.

Instead of looking to find the source of the blasts, Steve ascertains that the ground beneath his feet is absolutely stable, and then he takes a step back to get his bearings. The room goes dark and electricity shocks through his left arm. He stiffens and drops his shield. "That was for Sarx," Nyx growls. He is so close that Steve can feel his hot breath before his features come into focus. From behind Nyx, Steve sees another combatant rush at Clint from a blind spot. He wants to yell "look out," but the shock from Nyx's attack has left him breathless. As Nyx prepares another blow with the electric prod, Steve drops to his knees and scoops up his shield, then rams it into his opponent's knees, knocking Nyx's weapon across the room. From behind Nyx, Steve sees another combatant rush at Clint from a blind spot. He wants to yell "look out," but the shock from the first attack has left him breathless.

On the far end of the room, Diana sees Bruce. He is in a small glass room, and is hooked up to several wires and tubes. As she hastens toward him, she hears Thor yell, "Princess, to your left!" Diana whips around in time to see Eris charge her with a sword. She grabs a lab stool and smashes it into the oncoming weapon, causing Eris to lose her balance and fall backwards into a table full of equipment. "This is not your war!" Diana entreats. "Leave your goddess name behind and surrender!" Eris supports herself on the edge of the table, facing Diana with pure fury. She steadies her sword again as Diana braces for another attack.

Nyx smirks at Diana's plea and swings at Steve with his fist. It is flesh, but it feels like a hammer as it lands on Steve's left shoulder. "What the?" Steve somersaults backward and onto his feet. From behind, he hears Tony blast his repulsor rays. Something pungent and chemical burns through the air, blurring Steve's vision. His lungs and throat sting. The room spins. He waves an arm around, blindly for seeking support. "Over here, mortal. I am becoming a god!" Nyx says. Steve's eyes burn and he doesn't trust what he sees. He staggers and shakes his head. Light green seeps through Nyx's skin and rips through his clothes. Then he takes another swing. Steve bows left and Nyx's enormous green fist slams into a table, denting the steel and smashing more equipment.

Near Bruce's holding room, Eris hoists her sword overhead and launches herself at Diana. Diana ducks her head, whirls right, and roundhouse kicks Eris. Eris blocks her with the wide end of her sword, causing Diana to land too heavily and stumble. Eris rears back her fist and sends it into Diana's temple, knocking her flat on her back. She slides across the floor. She grabs for her lasso, but the pointed toe of Eris' boot lands in Diana's throat before she unhooks it. Something acidic and bitter rises to the back of her tongue. She swallows and feels something cold and metallic slash through her and press its way down.

Somewhere a woman has just cried out in agonizing pain. Natasha? Diana needs to get up and help her. She opens her eyes and sees red and black lines. A moment or two later, she realizes it is her hair. It is her hair, drenched in her own blood. It is she who had cried out. Wonder Woman is the woman in agonizing pain; it is she who has been stabbed. She lifts her hand. Her hair paints wetness across her face as she sweeps it from her eyes. Another woman screams and Eris lands in a heap beside Diana face down. Several arrows stick out from her back. Or maybe it's one arrow. The room blurs and tilts.

She closes her eyes and listens to the violence around her. Glass and metal clang against a shield. Heavy, soft things whoosh across the room and fall to the ground with heavy thuds. The floor is warm and wet and she lays her head back down. It's like bathwater over a marble floor. She slides her hand through it. It's like home. It hurts to move her arm too far. "You stay awake, Diana!" A man's voice calls from far away. It's a voice that makes her smile. That voice, too, reminds her of home. He won't be angry if she sleeps just for a little while. He's never angry at her for very long. She inhales deeply; she finds that she cannot inhale deeply. Something in her mouth still doesn't taste or smell right. It's vaguely metallic. She feels cold, and the floor is warm and womblike.

"Angel! Keep your eyes open!" The offending word makes her open her eyes and looks down across her torso. She is pinned to the floor with a sword. Diana wants to laugh. Who in Man's World fights with a sword? She can get it out though. She forces her hands to the sword's hilt. She begins to tug. By the fourth tug she hears another man's voice shout out an expletive and a command "Help her!" Then shocking red light burns through her entire body.


	23. Chapter 23

When Nyx's enormous green-tinted fist hits the table, Steve grabs an upended stool and smashes it into the back of his opponent's head. It clangs against him as if Nyx were made out of metal. Nyx spins around and snarls, "That was unsporting." He slams his right fist into Steve's shield, sending him flying past another lab table and into a wall of metal shelves, which collapses over him. He tastes blood in his mouth and the room tilts slightly. He steps out of the debris. Glass and broken electronics crackle beneath his feet. He looks around for Nyx.

Instead, he sees a flurry of arrows swish by and thwack into a body. He sees Eris fall down into a very serious-looking red puddle. Diana is laying down in it. Everything begins to move in slow motion. He calls her name. He is unable to listen for a reply because Nyx has kicked him just over the kidneys. He falls onto his hands and knees. Bile rises at the back of his throat and he fights the impulse to heave. Glass and wires rip into his gloves and stick from his palms, and they go numb with pain. "Diana you stay awake!" He isn't sure whether he's actually yelled it, or only thought he did. She moves her hand a few inches across the floor, smearing her blood in an arc.

"Get up, lover-boy! Face me!" Nyx yanks Steve by the neck to his feet. In his periphery, he sees Natasha smash a broken beaker into an enemy's face. He feigns injury, staggering a few steps backward. Then he takes a short running leap at Nyx, knocking him to the ground and falling on top of him. Nyx shouts out in surprise. He pushes his left palm into Steve's face and pushes his right hand into Steve's right shoulder. Steve doesn't budge. He makes fists, pushing shrapnel further into his palms, and shoves his left elbow into Nyx's throat, cutting off most of his air supply. All he can think of is ending this man so he can save his wife. He's done fighting fair. As Nyx struggles, Steve presses harder into his throat to use it as leverage and knees him in the groin. Nyx shouts in surprise and pain, and then goes limp.

A few yards away, Diana has closed her eyes. A sword stands straight up, as if pinning her to the floor. He says the first thing he can think of to make her angry enough to stay awake. "Angel! Keep your eyes open!" As he starts toward her, a lab guard blindsides him. Knuckles meet left temple, and Steve stumbles to the side. He reels sideways and takes a moment to regain his equilibrium. Then he pivots to face this new impediment.

The guard takes advantage of Steve's surprise with a hard uppercut to the chin. Angry now, Steve takes two lurching steps forward and punches him back. It feels sluggish. He knows it's a bad punch the moment he launches it. The guard smirks and says, "THAT'S all I get from the indomitable Captain America?" and slams his fist into Steve's solar plexus, taking the wind out of him. He keels slightly as he forces himself to breathe. The guard goes for another punch. This time Steve stops the punch with the palm of one hand and takes another swing with the other. This punch contacts the guard's nose straight-on. Blood spatters across the guard's face and Steve's knuckles. When the guard staggers and falls over, Steve realizes that he's moved farther away from Diana. Diana, meanwhile, looks like she's trying to dislodge the sword. He yells "Dammit Tony, help her!" Iron Man hovers a few feet away from Diana. He looks down and blasts her with a beam from his chest. Diana looks agonized for a moment, and drops unconscious.

When he looks around again only a couple of enemy remain. The rest of the fight winds down in a peripheral blur. The clatter of battle diminishes. Eventually it is quiet. Someone makes a phone call about a medical team. A man pulls debris from Steve's palms. He kneels in the blood that puddles from beneath Diana and cradles her blood-streaked head. The blast from Tony's ray has seared off the wound. Medics come and lead Steve away. While someone bandages his hands, he watches as another team carefully and expertly dislodges the sword from Diana's body and then lifts her onto a gurney. Some bodies are loaded into bags; others are strapped down tightly, like Diana's and Nyx's. It occurs to him that Eris has disappeared.


	24. Chapter 24

Diana knows the sound and feel of her mother's chambers without opening her eyes. She knows the name of every flower that hangs overhead and scents the air of the queen's personal baths. Hippolyta and her attendants sponge her over and over with warm rosewater until the last of the blood dissolves and the water runs clear. "Man's world is not worth the pain you endure." Her mother's voice is soothing and sorrowful. "What was it, Mother? Do you know?" Hippolyta shakes her head slowly. She looks devastated. "It doesn't matter," she tells her. "This isn't the end. I know this much to be true." She places her palm over Diana's abdomen and belly. Although Hippolyta's hands are cool and soothing; beneath her skin it stings and burns and throbs. Something unwinds and drips from inside like dough from a beater. She closes her eyes. "Wake up, my love, this isn't the end." The voice is sad and cajoling.

"C'mon, please." Something warm rests on her lap. "If you love me you'll wake up." She hovers her hand above it and then rests her hand against it. She feels a familiar hand. Not her mother's—larger and somewhat rougher, with long fingers. It's dark though, and the last thing she remembers is Eris towering over her with a sword that looked forged by Hephaestus Himself. She opens her eyes but can't prop herself up. "Why am I strapped down? Where are we?" Panicking, she forces herself up and rips through the fabric belts attached to the bed. She yelps in pain, and he very gingerly props her up under his arm. She lets him take on her weight as she looks around the hellicarrier's clinic. Two beds over, Bruce is strapped down, unconscious. "Thank you Athena and Aphrodite," she whispers. Then she remembers Steve's last statement and does her best to fix him in a stare. "Do not ever ask me to test my devotion, husband. Even my triumph will end painfully for you." He beams down at her.

"Hey, we did it. We got them. And we saved Bruce. Nyx is in lockdown. We're on our way home. Well, we're on our way to SHEILD'S hospital wing, but once you're healed up we'll be going home." The words swirl around her head. She feels herself sinking, and he guides her back onto her pillow. "What about Eris?"

"We'll get her," Steve assures.

"There was something I needed to tell you," she starts, but he's tucking her in and smoothing her hair. "You rest. It can wait." She tries to shake her head. "No I can't remember but I had to tell you something." He kisses her forehead and says, "I'll be here when you wake up."

She lets him guide her back down. "You're safe now," he repeats, even after he knows Diana's fallen asleep. He strokes her hair and tries to read his book, but can't concentrate. After reading the same paragraph of his Bradbury story for the fifth time, he finally puts the book down and closes his eyes. They won't stay closed. He stares out the window as they pass through a puffy, white cloud. For the second time since they'd even heard of The Concordance Group, he thanks the gods, his mother-in-law, and the god of his own semi-lapsed faith for protecting his wife while he could not. "What the hell good is it to be this powerful if I can't protect my own," he muses.

As if on cue, Thor quietly knocks on the door pulls up a chair next to him. They say nothing for several minutes, alternately staring out at the sky and at Diana asleep. "She's going to go after Eris."

Thor grunts in agreement.

"How do you do it, Thor?" Steve finally asks. "How do you keep the ones you love safe? How do you be a soldier and a human being at the same time?"

Without hesitating, he replies, "You trust the part of you that loves with the part of you that fights. I know little of the Amazonian culture. My understanding, though, is that they fight equally from places of love and wisdom. As do you. Your duty is not to keep her safe. Your duty is to trust her, my friend."

They sit silently for a long time, until the room grows dim and Steve feels his eyes close and catches himself before he tumbles forward from his seat. He props himself against a wall and nods off as Thor leaves.

Diana discovers that she has been moved once again the next time she opens her eyes. She jerks upright and Steve puts his hand on her arm. "Whoa, it's alright, you're safe." It's Bruce's voice. A moment later he is leaning over her. She hugs her friend tightly and kisses his cheek. "You're okay! I was afraid they'd hurt you!"

Bruce blushes a bit. "Not me," he replies with a smile. Who'd take care of you then?"

Steve clears his throat and says, "Me." He narrows his eyes and looks alternately at Diana and Bruce. Bruce extricates himself from Diana's embrace and backs off, indicating that he's gotten the message. Diana, however, appears blissfully unaware. She reaches out for Steve with one hand and clings to Bruce's with the other. "You'll come over for dinner when I'm better, we insist." Bruce glances at Steve. "Sure." Steve says. "Yeah."

"Hey, you need to grow another couple of arms, lady," she hears Tony say from across the room. A moment later, Tony and Pepper both drape themselves over her and Steve directs them way. "Give her some room to breathe!" he admonishes. Before Tony peels himself away he kisses her hand and says, "Sorry I blasted you. You would've bled out if you'd managed to pull Eris' sword out of yourself though." She hugs him tight. "If you can't trust your friends to shoot you, why have enemies," she tells him." Pepper laughs and says, "Indeed!" Tony looks sideways at Steve, who merely shrugs. "I'm sure there are at least two or three mixed-up aphorisms there," he explains. "It's an ongoing process."

The parade of well-wishers continues throughout the day. Thor brings Jane along to visit briefly. Clint ruffles Diana's hair and says, "You had us worried there, kiddo." Natasha just hugs her. "Anything you need, sweetie," she whispers. She looks at Diana sadly. "You knew," Diana tells her. "I should have listened." Natasha kisses her cheek and repeats, "Anything you need, anytime."

"Knew what?" Steve asks as their friend leaves. "Why does she look like she's leaving a funeral?"

Before she replies, Director Fury shows up with flowers and thanks; later on Maria Hill comes by, as does Phil, also with flowers. "We're working on a pretty good spin for the Wonder Debacles," Coulson assures her. "Wonder Woman just took down some terrorists, and well, you've been here with the flu since Cap left for the show-down. Your neighbors and colleagues all swear you've been unwell lately, anyway."

Steve smiles. "It's good to have neighbors looking out for each other," he says. "I like where we live. It used to be the whole neighborhood took care of each other. At least we've got a building."

"You're old fashioned," Diana jokes. But she agrees. "Just another couple of days and we get to go home."

By the end of the day Diana's hospital room is a veritable flower garden. "Almost as if people here know you, Steve says. "I'll enjoy them for now, but most of them are going to other hospital patients with no visitors," Diana replies. Steve smiles and thinks of the many times Diana claims that she is selfish. Bruce comes in once more before visiting hours are over for all but immediate family. He checks Diana's I.V. drip and admonishes her for turning off the pain medication altogether. She smirks back at him. "You guys have some things to discuss, I'm sure," he says. He pats Steve on the back and looks sympathetically at them both, and then he walks to the door and quietly shuts it behind him.

"Okay Diana, something's going on between you and Natasha and Bruce. What am I missing this time?"

She shuts her eyes, and shivers. "I'm sorry."

"About what? What happened? Are you okay? I thought you were gonna be okay! Couldn't they stop the internal bleeding after all? Was Eris using a special sword that keeps you from healing the way you usually do? Should Natasha wake her up and interrogate her?"

She holds up a hand to signal "stop." Then she says, "I'll live." She takes a moment to gain some composure and sits up to face him. "I suspect that Eris is actually the real goddess, not a human being. After she stabbed me, I was transported by the gods again." Steve feels his whole body stiffen. He is on the edge of cursing. "Don't you dare give me that look," Diana tells him.

She watches him do his best to put on what she calls his soldier face. "Anyway," she continues, I was brought home by an avatar of Hermes. I saw my mother." She watches as his expression soften. "I understood something the moment I appeared before her. I understood it before she said anything; in fact I don't think she said much at all. I think the doctors here figured it out while they were treating me, so Bruce knew because of that. Natasha just…guessed. I didn't believe her though. She said she suspected what really made me so tired and moody and I told her she was absolutely incorrect."

"So, your girlfriend and Bruce are once again in on something and I am not. Do I get to be filled in as well?" He does his best to keep his voice even, rather than allowing it to crescendo. "She's not well; English isn't her first language," he reminds himself with no small amount of futility.

She looks plaintive, though, and whatever she wants to say, she clearly feels it. Diana is very bad at lying, and she doesn't try to. She looks Steve directly in the face. "When Eris stabbed through me with her sword, I was about five weeks…" she can't even say the word. So she skips to the next sentence. "I can't promise that I would have turned down the rescue mission if I really thought it was true. I swear I would have told you if I'd known though and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't know, I'm sorry that I don't know whether I would have taken it seriously, and I really do feel bereft at the outcome. " Steve pulls her to him and holds her and they bury their heads into one another's shoulders and hold each other up. "My mother healed me and told me it can still happen. But I'm not human. I was formed by clay that was wet with Demeter's tears over missing her only daughter. I can bear children because the tears of the goddess of childbearing are part of my makeup. But I have no idea how to plan or prevent it." She takes a few deep breaths. "I'm so sorry," she feels more tears well up as she speaks. "I…"

Once again she doesn't finish her sentence, this time because her husband has sealed if off. He kisses her mouth and he kisses her tears even as his own fall. "You're here," he tells her. He cups her face and looks directly into her eyes. "You are the only thing that's important right now and you are alive and here. It wasn't time for the rest. It'll happen when we're both ready, but you were right. It's a loss and it would've been amazing but sweetheart you were right all along." He wipes away a tear. The tear is for watching her nearly die, again. It's for not being there to protect her, again. It's for what might have been different. "All that matters is you're here with me now." He scoots closer onto the hospital bed and they hold onto each other tightly.


	25. Chapter 25

Your job is to trust her. He thinks back to Thor s words as he absorbs what Diana s just told him. Nice job there, Rogers. The sky darkens, casting long shadows across the floor, but he doesn t get up to close the blinds or turn on lights. I know we would have loved it, she says into his chest, soaking his shirt. He kisses the top of her head. I love you more, he says. He means it. He d like to kick himself for his own idiotic jealousy. Maybe I would ve guessed too, if I wasn t so fixated on keeping her close, he thinks. Then again, she didn t even know herself. He sighs and she leans more deeply into him.

Knowing better, he asks a question anyway. Diana? She looks up at him. Do you want Bruce here? I mean, to help you meditate or calm down or something? It s an asinine test. He is fully aware of this. She pulls away and looks perplexed. I only want you, my love, but I appreciate the thought. He knows he s blushing, and he feels foolish. The love of his life nearly died, and miscarried. And here I am making it about me. Oh boy, I m a piece of work, he thinks. Why are you afraid? she asks.

It s a good question. Diana watches him, waiting for an answer. He stares off into the dark room in search of an acceptable one and finds he comes up short. I would have carried it, Steve. I love you and I love the idea of having children with you, growing old together, spending eternity together. Love isn t a finite quantity, though. I took an oath to you, and to us. I keep it gladly and it brings me joy. I don t understand why you are so afraid.

He says nothing because he has no answer. She shifts closer to him and runs her index finger along his spine. Diana, when we were in New Orleans and Miss Sarx flirted with me were you jealous?

She chuckles. Of course not.

Why?

Because, she says, even though you clearly found it flattering, I know where your loyalties lie. I know your heart. I trust you with mine. She drums her fingers over his arm. Do you not trust me?

Even he knows that s a loaded question. Yeah, of course I do, he replies truthfully. I just don t trust everyone else with you. I mean, you kind of walk a thin line between friendly and affectionate with people sometimes. As soon as the words come out he knows they re the wrong ones. He can tell because her nails dig into his forearm. It was another stupid thing to say. She s at least as strong and fast as he is.

I am calm right now, she replies, because of the lessons Bruce has taught me about mindfulness. I am not tearing the flesh from your arms because my sisters have taught me to control my temper. I will not stop showing love to the people I love. I do know boundaries, though. Shall I find a chaperone for the times I am out of the apartment without you, just in case?

Sorry, he says quietly. That s not what I meant.

It is what you meant, Steve. Look at me. She lifts his chin in the crook of her finger so that their faces are at eye level. I gave up my throne, my home, and my immortality for you. I didn t have to. This world would have survived without me. I am here because I cannot imagine being happy without you. My heart, my mind, my body all find their way to you. I desire you in ways I can t begin to understand. But you need to loosen your grip on me. I am yours, but I do not belong to you. What will it take for you to really know this?

He looks down and focuses on the palms of his hands. They are almost completely healed from a couple of days ago. He wants more than he has language to describe. Diana has not dropped her steady, questioning gaze. It might feel better if she was accusing him of something, but she only wants the information. All she wants is for him to understand that she loves him. He feels about two inches tall. She deserves an answer though, so he tries again.

I don t think I want to possess you, Diana. I really don t. It s more like I want to lose myself in you. I see you, and I don t even have words sometimes. It s like I m so close to you, and if I can only get a little closer, I ll be complete.

Diana sweeps her legs over the edge of the bed and stands up. She undresses and kicks her clothes into a pile. Then yes, she says, very gently.

What do you mean yes? You re still healing. Even as he says this he feels his pulse start to quicken, along with inexplicable fear, as if he s just been given a test.

I am healed, she replies. She sounds as if she s offering a matter-of-fact solution to an obvious problem. We are in this room as a formality, but, as you have pointed out many times, I am not like human women. I am perfectly healthy. And I mean, yes. Lose yourself in me then. I am here. I love you. Let me be here for you.

He is standing now, but has no recollection of making the decision to do so. They stand less than a foot apart, staring at each other. A thousand thoughts race through his mind. Inexplicably, he thinks about the first time they made love, and how nervous he was, and is now. He thinks about the courtship ritual he d endured on Themyscira, and about how he d had no idea how much she d suffered quietly as a part of it. He remembers the day not so long ago when she d tied herself in her own lasso, and let him possess her. This woman became ill and later nearly died. An evil goddess severed what would have been their baby from them; and then she apologized to him for all of it. He has no right, he thinks, to even breathe the same air. And she wants to grant him this gift. His best impulses tell him to pull her back to bed and stroke her hair and kiss her and let her sleep.

Instead, he peels his shirt off and pulls her closer to him. He feels the tension leave his body when he bends toward her and nuzzles his lips into her throat. Her pulse pounds into his lips. Warrior goddess that she is, she has proven herself so very fragile over the past twenty-four hours, and he is no longer sure whether he wants to protect her or strike the final blow and devour her. He moves his mouth to hers and can t stop kissing her. She barely moves; instead she floats into him, skimming her hands over his waist, then the small of his back, and rests her fingers over his waistband. Go slowly, my love. I m here, she whispers. He moves one hand down to undo his pants and shifts his weight until they fall to his ankles. Then he pulls her back so that he can step out of underwear and socks.

He keeps her at arm s distance again for what feels like interminable minutes because he doesn t want to stop looking at her. Her long, black hair blends into the dark room like waves creeping back toward the ocean. Her skin is flushed, but her face is absolutely placid and loving. Every nerve is on alert he understands what fear is for the first time, because he is going to lose something vital one way or another: if he kisses her he cannot also take her in with his eyesight. If he keeps her in his sites, he can t touch her. Ultimately, he takes a step closer and traces her jaw with his palm, and bends down to kiss her again. She emits a muffled groan, and he lifts her up by the buttocks and into the bed, and lowers onto her. She moves her hands along the length of his torso and kisses him back in earnest this time. She loves him, and she s so much more breakable than she lets on. Maybe she doesn t even know herself how delicate she can be. He can feel her heart thumping into his chest and some ferocious animal rips through him. He presses a hand along her left breast, down her abdomen, and to her thigh, which he pulls from behind and wraps around him before returning to that tender place where thigh and torso meet. It still isn t close enough.

I can t wait anymore, he mumbles into her throat. He knees between her thighs, hoists her legs up higher, and moves completely into her, pressing himself onto her breasts and belly, pressing his tongue deep into her mouth. She inhales sharply in genuine surprise. He doesn t register it at first. There is only the sensation of need and heat. At some point, she is not there; there are only absolute necessity and two bodies, and he presses her closer into him until he finally groans in release. Only then does he notice something has gone wrong.

Diana s eyes are wide open, and her hands are scrunched in loose fists on the sides of the bed. Her jaw, throat, and abdominal muscles are taut. She s slightly chilly. He rolls off of her. His fingerprints have left bruises along her ribcage. She looks genuinely offended and startled. She sits up and gets out of bed, then bends at the knees to pick up her sweatshirt, without breaking her gaze. She reminds him of a stray cat, warily seeking food or shelter from a stranger. She pulls it over her head, then bends down again and puts on her panties. Then she stands there, looking unsure of what to do.

I messed up badly, didn t I? He says.

She looks at him with absolutely no expression. Have you finished with my body, for now? Shadows from the night sky outside broadly cross over her body. She resembles an apparition in this dark hospital room, as if something has left her.

Oh god, Diana I am really sorry. That s not how I meant it. I definitely know that s not how you meant it. He did this. He took her and used her and scared her. He feels slightly ill.

She nods slightly and sits in a chair next to the bed. Steve grabs up his boxers from the floor and sits in the chair next to her. Seconds go by; she doesn t avert her gaze from him. I had anticipated being more than merely flesh into which you could masturbate. That hurt.

He deserved that. He wouldn t have put in such polite terms, though. She doesn t move. She fixes him with a stare that shows no emotion whatsoever and is quiet for what feels like a very long time. The silent tension is more imposing than any attack stance she could ever take. Please say something, he says after a few minutes. Get angry. Yell at me if you feel like it. Call me whatever names you want, make me sleep in another room for the next month, just say something.

Another infinity of seconds go by. I forgive you, she eventually tells him without breaking eye contact. He buries his head in his hands. Say anything but that. He is painfully aware that he has just committed an act of sacrilege. He wants to get on his knees and plead: not to the goddess sitting next to him, but to his wife, to whom he s just shown his absolute worst impulses. He s laid bare this shameful desire that he certainly can name, now, as can she. I can t even tell you how sorry I am. He wipes tears from his face with his palms.

I know you re sorry, she says calmly. I know that I wasn t clear about what you d meant and you weren t clear about what I d said. I know you re sorry. I will get over the surprise. I forgive you. She stands up and retrieves her sweatpants. After putting them on, she climbs back into bed and motions for him to join her. He dresses and then follows obediently. They lay facing each other on the narrow mattress. Tentatively, he slides an arm over her waist. She doesn t push him away. It s a truce. He wants to deny himself the luxury of peace for now, though, and begins his apology again. Tell me what to do. How do I make this up to you?

She smiles just a little bit, props herself up on her elbow. You d be a horrible nurse, she tells him. I thought I was supposed to be the one in need of extra care. He moans and starts another apology, but she interrupts him. Smiling, she says, I will say this: you are kind of endearing when you re this contrite in a sad puppy kind of way. We will transcend this, I promise. Can I have my husband back soon, though? I m the one who needs comforting right now.

Steve laughs quietly. I don t deserve you.

Still smiling, Diana agrees. Maybe so; just don t leave me so far behind again. It s unbearable. I am not an angel, as you keep insisting, nor am I a statue or a vessel.

He nods. I get that. I swear I do. Why aren t you angrier?

She says, You are already punishing yourself. There is nothing for me to do but tell you I forgive you. If you didn t feel so badly about how you just treated me, things might be different. If I d felt attacked, I would have defended myself. I don t think I understand what happened, but I didn t like it. You know that, you are truly penitent, and I let go of anger and outrage a few minutes ago.

When he sighs, he shakes a bit. I love you more than I can even say.

I know, she says, brushing his hair back. I love you too. No more fear. No more running away and leaving me behind, okay?

Okay.

She nuzzles in closer to him, and soon her breath turns light and even. He pulls the thin hospital blanket over them both and props himself up to look out the window again. It has begun to snow. He wonders what the hell is wrong with him. He marvels at Diana s equanimity and ability to forgive, and thinks back to the differences between her mission and his during the War. He was meant to inspire support at home and then lead troops into battle. She was an emissary of peace. She embodies peace. It seems like such a small but significant difference right now. Gravity bears down in his stomach, lungs and heart, and all he can do is to sink under the weight. The snow falls in big fluffy clumps. It will not stop until it covers everything: the SHIELD campus, the Beltway, the East Coast. It will cover every trash-strewn alleyway and everything that is good and beautiful. He shivers and watches as the world becomes cold and pristine. 


	26. Chapter 26

So I was on my way in to say hi to Diana this morning, Natasha begins. Steve puts down his sandwich and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Normally, he likes coming here. The high ceilings, dark paneling and red booths reminded him of a place he and Bucky frequented on Friday nights when they were teenagers, before the War changed everything. It wasn t old-timey kitsch; the place just had the right feel to it. And I didn t really mean to eavesdrop, but I m a spy, Natasha continues. The sun bounces off the snow and ice of the parking lot. Drivers slam on brakes and there is a cacophony of honking horns as a car slows for a yellow light at the diner s intersection. Steve reaches over and lowers the blinds at their booth s window. I suppose you also have something to say about what you heard, he says to his plate.

Natasha smiles at him. Steve shakes his head. I really didn t come with you to lunch to hear a lecture although I m curious about what you think you heard.

What the hell were you thinking, you idiot, and I ask this with only the deepest regard and friendship, she replies, ignoring the query. Natasha sips her soda and meets his gaze. He shrugs and drinks his coffee. Even the menu doesn t seem to have lost its basic, 1930 s diner style: no fancy coffees, no weird cheeses on the sandwiches. It was too bad his appetite was effectively gone, now. I guess I wasn t thinking. This is none of your business, anyway though Diana hasn t said anything to you has she?

She smiles again. Diana doesn t have to say anything. It s pretty easy to read her because she s not used to keeping secrets from the people she loves and no, she isn t keeping any from you that I m aware of. Steve leans back in his seat and sighs. Say whatever you need to. Get it out of your system. From the corner of his eye, he notices the shadows of traffic start to move again. A few tables behind him, someone babbles into their phone about a court date. Natasha snaps her fingers in front of Steve s face. Pay attention, Cap! He sighs, takes another sip of coffee, and slouches back in his seat. With as much tolerance as he can manage, he says, Okay I m listening.

The first few weeks of pregnancy make you tired, moody, and generally ill, from what I ve seen. She thought it was just the Concordance Group s mood-altering tech, but it seemed a little extreme for someone as immune to stuff as Diana. And it s not like she would ve known the early signs. She s never really been around pregnant women before.

She should ve told me. He looks past Natasha at a busboy clearing the next booth. A couple of women walk to the counter, leaving wet, slushy footprints on the tile-patterned floor. They laugh hysterically at something as they seat themselves on the padded red stools.

Natasha shakes her head. She didn t think it was true. Steve, you do understand that she s not like regular women. She s never had to think about messy stuff like cycles, birth control, and things like that, nor will she ever, as far as she knows.

He looks out the window and pretends he isn t blushing. A car slides over a patch of black ice and spins out from the intersection. No one crashes into it. Oh my god, grow up! Natasha exclaims. Seriously? Look at me, Steve. Do you want me to call Bruce? Is it better for a man to explain this stuff to you?

Steve turns to her and frowns. I am aware of how women s biology normally works, and no, don t call Bruce, he says slowly and forcefully.

Okay, she says. I m going to tell you some things you already know. If you keep coming up with creative and not-very-creative ways to control her, she is going to get angry. She s a goddess, and she has the patience of an immortal, but even she has her limits. She is as dedicated to your marriage and to protecting the world as you are. For the love of everything Steve, no one should have to tell you this. Pushing her to get pregnant is not going to change the way she behaves in the long run. So knock it off until it happens and you re both happy about it. That s number one.

Steve puts some cash on the table and slides toward the edge of the booth.

I m not done yet. Natasha warns. There s more.

He hangs one leg over the edge of the seat in preparation to bolt, but waits. You re awfully close to crossing the line here, he warns.

Whatever little jealousy thing you have going on with Bruce, it is very clearly all in your head. Yeah, he probably has a harmless crush. He s still her friend and yours. Look around the room. You see all the men in here? No matter if she s in costume or just being Diana, every man in here and most of the women would mentally undress her and have her six ways from Sunday if she were to walk in right now. She s not interested in them. I see the way she looks at you. Get over yourself.

Thank you, Dorothy Dix, Steve mutters and once again starts to get up. Natasha slides her foot further under the table hooks it around his ankle. Not so fast, cowboy.

Steve slides back into the booth. Speaking of patience having its limits...

I don t have to tell you she deserves better from what it sounds like she got from you last night.

Steve s face and neck heat up. The two women at the counter laugh loudly again. Natasha grins and tells him, You should see the look on your face. You gave her bad sex, too? I was talking about the fact that she s been through absolute crap the past few months and you ve been making it sound like she s done something to you. But she deserves good sex, too. Do you need me to talk you through that as well? She smirks.

He scowls at her and gets up and again. One more thing, Natasha says seriously. She loves you profoundly, you know. She s first in line to the throne, and she s broken one of her culture s most important laws by marrying you. She s turned her back on everything and everyone she s ever known and she s pretty sure not everyone would be happy to have her back.

This last bit is actually somewhat new to him. Against the law?

Natasha looks straight at him. Maybe she does have a secret or two from you after all! Good for her!

He leans across the table. Struggling to control his temper, he says, Natasha, mind your own business and keep your judgments to yourself.

He gets up to leave without her and pushes through the diner s revolving door. The subzero temperature and traffic sounds are an exhilarating relief from the recycled hot air and what others call classic rock from inside. Nevertheless, the sharp wind on his face feels like a slap.  



	27. Chapter 27

What should have been a ten-minute cab ride takes a half-hour on the icy road home, but it is below freezing outside, and walking was out of the question. As the cab passes the alleyway a few blocks from the brownstone, both Diana and Steve crane their necks and peer down the empty dead-end. "Shelter's open," Steve assures both her and himself. A few minutes later, the cab stops. Steve pays the driver and then grabs the overnight bag at his feet. He holds the cab door open and says "Welcome home Mrs. Rogers," extending his arm. She smiles and takes it. Diana pauses on the short walkway that leads to their stoop when a glorious idea occurs. She falls backward into the snow. Steve looks alarmed for a moment until he sees her move her legs and arms up and down, and he laughs and pulls her up. "Yeah, you're definitely feeling better." She turns to admire her work. Then she kneels down and writes "Diana" with a gloved finger. When she stands up, she wraps her arms around his waist and tells him, "Because I know when you're thinking it, even if you know not to say it." He scoops her up and carries her up the stairs and past the threshold of their building.

"Are you trying to sweep me off my feet?" She teases. He grins and sets her down in front of the mailboxes. "You can fly. I've gotta take every chance I get!"

Home feels right to Diana. After putting her snowy things away she stands behind the sofa, brings her arms past her head and bends backwards a few inches. She listens to the heater kick on, then walks across the room to put on some music. She chooses a Miles Davis compilation. In the kitchen, cabinets and then the refrigerator open and shut. Eventually, Steve walks into the room eating an apple. We've gotta get some groceries tonight or tomorrow," he informs her as he sits down. She goes to the back of the couch and starts to rub his neck and shoulders. He leans his head back and she bends forward and kisses his forehead. "How did I end up deserving you again?" he says.

"You don't. It was untreatable brain damage I sustained during the War."

"My gain," he replies, grinning up at her. "Remind me to thank the Axis nations sometime." She climbs over the back of the couch and plops next to him, tucking her feet underneath her. "What are you, five?" he asks. She reaches over and steals a couple of bites of apple. His hands cup her ankle and he strokes her instep with his thumb. After a minute or two, she slides her foot back underneath her and offers him the other one. He lifts it to his lips and kisses it. "Was that a 'princess' thing," she asks halfheartedly. He shakes his head. "Mostly it's just a 'wife' thing. Your feet are freezing, by the way." He pulls her other foot back out and wraps them both in a throw blanket. "There." He looks around. "You finished off my apple, didn't you?" She hands him the core, and then flops backward along the length of the couch and smiles. "Sorry."

He sighs. That feels right to Diana, also: Steve lovingly exasperated with her over everyday things. "If I go out to the store will you be okay here by yourself?" She rolls back up and stares at him with what she hopes is a look of disbelief. "I'm Wonder Woman, and this is my home."

He gets up and takes a short bow. "Stupid question, but you've been traumatized. Forgive me your highness, I'm gonna go make a list, then I'm going to get us some food."

It feels so good to be home. She pulls him back down by the hand and kisses him. "I'm fine. I just helped you save the world a few days ago. I'm not traumatized, but hurry home because I'll miss you," she says. Then she gets up to run herself a bath. She notices that the door doesn't bolt shut until after water stops running. She knows he worries about her.

Before she steps into the water, she lights candles and turns off the lights. The bathwater smells like hyacinth oil and sea salt, which reminds her of her own private baths from a lifetime ago. Diana closes her eyes and lets the heady, floral musk envelop her. The hospital, the worries over Eris, and her fraught moments with Steve from the past few days all evaporate with the popping and fizzing bubbles. The muscles in her back and belly unwind and she smiles. She feels heavy and light simultaneously. When she opens her eyes, haloes of candlelight cast out the sunset's shadows. This is home also: she is alone and she is loved and at this moment, everything is absolutely right.

It doesn't worry her that he still isn't home as the freezing sun drops and the sky outside turns purple-gray. She makes sure the light is on in the hallway, leaves the bedroom door open a crack. Then she puts on her favorite silk pajamas and a pair of Steve's heavy socks. The pajamas are the color of the tunic she used to wear all the time on Themyscira. It was good to be cared for by her mother. No matter their issues, her mother's love is yet another place that is home, and she carries it inside of her. The thick cotton on her feet and the smooth weightlessness of silk again make her feel anchored and weightless. She settles under the bed's blankets. The clock reads just before five. Safely cocooned, she yawns and drifts into sleep.

She startles half-awake sometime later because she hears noise in the apartment. Cabinets open and close, paper rustles. She looks at the clock and sees that it is almost half past seven. "Putting groceries away, she thinks, and closes her eyes again.

Later, the mattress shifts with weight. Without opening her eyes she mumbles his name drowsily. "Hey sleepyhead, it's just me." He curls up behind her, his chest against her back, and entwines his legs between hers. Even through his sweatpants and t-shirt and her own pajamas, she feels his warmth and strength. She sighs and relaxes a little more. He wraps an arm around her and catches her hand, then brings it against her chest so that their interlaced fingers rest over her breasts. "Get anything good at the store?" she murmurs.

"Yeah, but they were really crowded. Sorry it took so long." He wriggles closer up against her. "You sure you're not hungry? It's pretty early yet."

"Umgood," she mumbles into her pillow. She tucks his arm more comfortable against her and sags into his weight. She lets his soft breath lull her into unconsciousness.

Happier and more relaxed than she's felt in several weeks, even in the protective shelter of home and Steve's arms, the nightmare assaults her. It is dark, and the air is cold and damp. Heavy chains attach to her wrists, ankles and waist; Phane's hot, bitter breath is on her neck; Steve is chained similarly, and drowning. The sharp blade of Eris's sword cuts through her, and the some unidentifiable flower is severed at the root. Phanes rips the top of her bra strap puts a clammy hand on her breast as she strains to pull away. The chains shorten the more she resists. She shouts out.

Her arms, hands and legs are held fast and she pushes against something warm. A familiar voice says her name along with a mix of shushes and endearing words. The scent is familiar and soothing. She opens her eyes. Steve lies on his side, holding her to him and rocking her. She presses herself closer and hides her face in his chest. "It's a bad dream, that's all," he says.

"Don't let go of me."

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart." He strokes her hair and lets her get the front of his shirt wet. "Just a dream. You're safe. I'll keep you safe."

She laughs a little in spite of herself. "Who'll keep you safe?"

He doesn't laugh back. "You will. I've been pretty self-centered lately. You deserve better than that. I want you to feel safe with me. I feel safe with you. We're happy together; we'll be brave and alone and scared together, okay?"

"Okay. And I do feel safe with you: more so than with anyone else. Just like I'm happier with you than anyone else. I thought you already knew that." She relaxes again and lets Steve rock her.

They stay that way for a long time. They fold into each other. They're two halves, Diana thinks as her mind begins to shut down. Independent and complete, but better together. The last smokey tendrils of nightmare release their hold and fade away. She feels the slow, steady beat of her husband's breath; she hears his heart against her ear. The song soothes her into sleep.


	28. Chapter 28

NOTE: THIS CHAPTER DEFINITELY WARRANTS AN EXPLICIT RATING.

Sometime in the earliest part of the morning, on the cusp of sleep and wakefulness, Steve hears Diana ask is he's awake. He looks across the room and sees soft, steady snow against blackness in the dresser mirror. He wonders if spring will ever make its way into their lives. The clock tells him it is 2:13. Rolling over, he spoons around her and kisses her ear very softly. She catches his hand and pulls it around her, drawing them closer together. "Good," she whispers. He inhales slowly into the space between her hair and her neck. Diana always smells like some tropical flower and the cleanest ocean. The scent spirals to the back of his tongue and lingers in his throat, then makes a descent. She makes a sound that is somewhere between a hum and a purr. He kisses her again, and she makes the sound again. She sounds happy and sleepy. He scoots in a little closer, careful to avoid touching her with his own hardness. In reality, he has no idea how to approach her after the other night at the hospital. But she relaxes and gently presses her back into his chest, and they move closer together. He eases his thumb and fingers over her pajama top to the space between her shoulder blades and presses, and matches his inhalation to hers. They breathe together as if connected by his fingers along that small space on her spine. Even her silky pajama top takes up her scent, and it's as if he is touching a petal when he puts his hand near it. Even though he knows better, he is afraid of damaging her.

He bends his neck down and touches the space where her skin disappears below her collar with his mouth. He does his best to be mindful that he hasn't shaved for a couple of days, but she shivers and he knows it must tickle her. He moves his closed mouth across the nape of her neck slowly. This woman fills him with such a jumble of emotions; he is determined not to let his body take over again. He disentangles his fingers from hers and moves that hand to her brow, down the bridge of her nose and over each eyelid. He knows her bones so well that touching and drawing are almost identical sometimes. He traces her cheekbones. He marks the outline of her lips with his index finger and doesn't let her take it between her teeth. He senses her smile into his fingers— that smile that makes his insides ache.

Diana moves her foot along his calf, scrunching his sweatpants. He does his best to ignore it. He focuses on the soft synchronizing of their breathing and traces the bones of her throat with his finger, then the circumference of her breasts. He wants them to breathe together. He holds his breath when her own rhythm changes, and breathes with her again. He wishes if he concentrated very hard, if they could match heartbeats as well. When she moves her hand to unbutton her top, he eases it away, and then undoes the top button himself. She arcs her head back; he barely kisses her neck and undoes another button. He slides a sleeve down past her shoulder, touches his mouth to that place, too. One by one, he undoes a button, skims his fingers over that much more of her breasts, and moves her pajama sleeve further down, moves his lips to that new, bare place until he is able to slip the top off of her completely. She tries to roll over towards him, but he stops her by moving down her spine with soft kisses, practically vertebra by vertebra. Her skin is even softer and more delicate than the fabric that had been covering her. It quivers wherever his stubble touches it.

Finally, he presses one hand over her shoulder and helps her roll over. Her eyes are all ocean and dark sky, and they lock on his. Without breaking eye contact, she reaches for the hem of his shirt but he shakes his head 'no.' "Let me love and worship you properly," he says very quietly. His neck goes warm at saying something so cliché, but he means it; she must believe him because she lets go of his shirt. He wants so many conflicting things that he can't possibly describe to himself right now, and he's fighting most of them. He shivers. Diana cups one hand along his face and looks at him with a mixture of concern and want. He bends down and again, touches his lips to hers without opening his mouth. In truth, he is afraid that with too much contact anywhere, that aggressive, possessive animal will break free again, and he's unwilling to let that happen. He thinks he'd rather die right now than allow it expression. He kneels over her. With his index fingers, he traces lines from each of her shoulders to the palms of her hands, and all of her fingers, then back up the backs of her hands, the thin, sensitive wrists, and inner elbows. His hovers his hands above her ribs. Even though they've healed completely, in his mind he still sees the bruises he left there last time and slides his palms along her ribcage. She doesn't take her eyes off of him. They're so dark right now. He doesn't know what combination of desire and wariness is there. "I swear will never hurt you again, ever," he says.

She sits up and puts her hand over his heart, just like their first time, just as she often does. She doesn't even have to say anything; he knows she still trusts him. Somehow she reminds him again that as far as she's concerned, he is her home. She sits up a little taller and kisses him, parting her lips and tracing the outline of his mouth with her tongue. He kisses her back this time. The taste and scent of her skin and her spicy-sweet breath nearly overpower him with the impulse to lose himself completely. He slides his tongue into her mouth and his hands on her buttocks and nearly forgets that he didn't want this to be about him at all until she pulls him down over her. Their hips align perfectly and he kisses her harder. She wraps her calves around his and tugs at his shirt again; then he remembers. He pulls back again. She probably thinks he's lost his mind. In fact, it's the opposite. He's doing his best to maintain it.

Steve scoots further down the bed and moves his hands to the waistband of her pajama bottoms, then folds them over once and slides the tip of his tongue along the little ridges that the elastic has left on her skin. Her abdomen and belly begin to undulate. He slides her pajamas all the way down. Then he brings his mouth to her left inner thigh and bites down, just a little bit. She inhales sharply and he freezes for a moment. The fear of hurting her is never far, and he's grateful for its presence. She would tell him though. She promised. He trusts her. He kisses the place where he's just used his teeth. "Oh my love, she says, as if reading his doubt, "just like that." Her voice is somewhere between a command and a plea. He brings his teeth to her other thigh, and barely closes them down into the space between skin and muscle. As he moves his face higher up he bites more gently, and she bears down into the mattress. He senses her pulse quicken as she grips the sheets.

He flattens his palms into the hardness of her hip bones and presses his lips into the hollow space between Diana's belly and thigh. She gasps and says something in Themyscrian and spreads her legs wider. He is making her react like this. It never gets old: he is always fascinated and astounded him that he can do arouse that much pleasure in her. His heart races and hammers down into his stomach and his balls. All he has left is breath and a thin thread of willpower. He forces his breath to stay even; he allows guilt and fear to wrestle down desire.

He gently sucks on the outer edge of her sex, making his way around, little by little, until he moves all the way around both sides and to the place where he knows she feels most intensely. Her palms are on his head now. He knows she is trying not to clench his hair in her fists. He moves his tongue up the entire length of her insides and touches her clitoris with the tip of his tongue. He's only been like this with her once before, and the mixture of memory and the present moment transports him because in spite of her protests, she is a flesh-and-blood goddess. This place is sacred; it is beach and some strange flower that pulses with the sea. One day, if he's brave, he might try to draw what he senses here.

She presses her fingertips into his scalp and breathes harder. "Steve, don't let me hurt you," she says in a hurry, and moves her hands off of him to clutch at the sheets again. Even when receiving, he thinks, her main concern is not herself. He smiles and pulls away, and kisses her thigh. "I can take it," he says, and then he presses his tongue against that same, sensitive spot with more pressure. Her hips start to swivel and rock. When he moves one hand to her thigh and the fingers of the other into her vagina, her hands move back to his head and she clenches his hair in fists. He feels her nails on his scalp and is reasonably sure she's drawn blood. He doesn't stop though. She is so strong she practically pulls him up by the hair when she comes. Even though he's startled by the throaty, warrior scream—a sound he hasn't heard before, he moves his fingers up and down her inner thighs and traces her initials along her insides with his tongue until she stops moving.

For a few minutes, he lies with his head on her belly, and she rests her hands gently over his head. It feels as if he's just run three marathons at a sprint. His brain is empty and his entire head stings and throbs. "Wow," he finally says into her skin.

Diana sits up and runs her fingers over his scalp. "Oh Steve I am so sorry."

"What?" He says. "I wasn't complaining, Diana. That was incredible!" He sits up as well and she opens her hands to show him the blonde hairs in her palms and the blood under her fingernails. "No, I mean I am really, really sorry."

He frowns and puts his hand up to the top of his head. It feels fine; when he looks back at his own palm only a few more strands and some dried blood are on it. He bursts out laughing. When he catches his breath and can speak again he says, "Y'know, most guys worry about losing their hair as they get older, but this isn't a bad way for it to happen to me if it ever does!" Diana doesn't laugh. She scoots toward him and bends his head toward her to inspect it. She sighs with relief. "I didn't get much by the roots. It will grow back, but surely, that hurts? I'll go get something to clean off the one raw spot." He doubles over laughing again. Diana looks nonplussed, and that makes it harder for him to regain control.

Eventually, he takes a couple of shuddering breaths. "You have no idea how mind-blowing it is to bring you that much joy. I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat." She frowns and shakes her head 'no.' "Absolutely yes," he counters, grinning. He reaches over and hands her back her pajama top. She takes it from him and lets him re-button it over her. "This will happen again," he repeats, "but I might plan ahead next time and wear my helmet." She tilts her head to consider this for a moment and he tries not to burst out laughing again, but then her mouth twitches a bit, and she giggles. Steve and Diana fall back on the bed and they laugh until tears stream down. The tears are rivers and when they cling to each other, their laughter sends the water down their bodies until the rivers run together into some new ocean which joins them together like blood, one life indistinguishable from the other. The ocean is calming and it rocks them to sleep.


	29. Chapter 29

Eyes closed, Diana imagines letting go of everything she doesn't need at this moment. She draws her navel deep towards her spine and holds the emptiness there for a few moments, aware of the warmth of the sun on the front of her body and the cool shadows at her back. Bruce's actual instructions were to suspend her breath until she absolutely had to inhale again, but that could be several minutes. Still, it is good to imagine sending away spent air, and old, troubling thoughts and worries that niggle from the periphery of her mind's eye. She ignores the temptation to inch forward on her meditation cushion, bringing the rest of her body into the sunlight that is only just beginning to fill the room. Closer in is warmth; closer to her friend is warmth. "Namaste," Bruce tells her. She opens her eyes and smiles up at him. He is sitting by the lemon tree in her favorite part of the arboretum. People are just beginning to mill about the building. The arboretum is still quiet, though. The light that begins to fill the room is soft and pink. The artificial waterfall in the corner bubbles to life, telling them it is exactly 7:30 a.m.

She and Bruce had not spoken when they met this morning for yoga and meditation; they nodded to each other in greeting and began their centering and sun salutations in quiet harmony. Diana had missed this over the past few weeks of chaos. She'd worried over his ability to regain control over his transformations into The Hulk, and, selfishly (she thought), missed their routine. The sun filters through the room a fraction more, making Bruce's skin seem less pale than it really is. "I'm so grateful that you're healing. You look better," she offers.

"Clean bill of health," he replies. "The gamma blood levels are more or less back down to their normal levels. My anger's about as manageable as it usually is, as far as I can tell, but doing this with you helps a lot."

He moves his cushion closer to hers and faces her. "Things okay at home?" he asks. It's been too long since they've caught up with each other's lives. She smiles and he lowers his eyes to his hands. "We're doing well," she says. I think Steve still worries about me a little too much, but we're fine." She reaches over and squeezes his hand. He squeezes her hand back. "As with you," she tells him, "the yoga and meditation practices we've been sharing have done only good in my life."

He doesn't look up. "Are you okay?" she asks. He holds her hand in both of his own and breathes slowly. "Yeah," he says after a few seconds. "Mindfulness helps too." He lifts her hand to his lips a little harder and holds it there for just a moment longer than Diana realizes he ought to. She draws her hand back. "Bruce," she starts.

"I know," he interrupts, releasing her hand. "I apologize." He sounds embarrassed, like a kid who's been caught doing something he shouldn't. "Exactly that," Diana thinks. Bruce continues, "You probably didn't even realize, and I shouldn't have done that." He starts to get up, saying "I should go."

Diana grabs his hand again and pulls him back down. "You should stay. You should stay and we should talk about this." There are too many 'shoulds' between them. Her stomach flutters and she suddenly feels cold. Bruce slowly shakes his head. "You love your husband. What you two have is so painfully obvious to everyone who sees you together."

"I love him with a depth I hadn't known existed in me," she replies softly. "You are my friend, and I cherish that friendship very deeply as well." The fluttering grows stronger and she shivers. He instinctively takes off his SHIELD jacket and leans forward, draping it over her shoulders. His hands linger over her arms for a moment and then he quickly pulls them back to his lap. "Please don't cry, Diana."

She wipes a single tear away with the sleeve of Bruce's jacket. "I can't lose you," she tells him. "You're too dear to me." He looks at her without replying. The only sound is the running water on the other end of the room. It sounds almost like steady Amazonian rain. The kind of rain she used to play in with her sisters. Her tunic would cling to her like a second skin and they'd raise their arms to the wet sky and sing. The memory is incongruent. A minute or two passes, and Diana can tell his heart is breaking because hers is as well. "I remember the first time I saw you cry," he tells her. "You'd just regained your memory and realized who you really were. Steve freaked out and left town. I couldn't believe it. I even tried to talk him out of leaving, but off he went." She takes up his hand in her own again and threads her fingers between his. "You helped me," she finishes the story. "You listened to me and you explained what was happening to me. You held me and let me cry on your shoulder so many times. Why wouldn't you let me do the same for you?"

He makes a noise that is somewhere between a sharp inhalation and a laugh. Then he bows his head toward her and practically whispers, "You never lost your faith in him. You never stopped loving him—even when you didn't know you loved him. How do I compete with someone who inspires that level of devotion?"

Diana closes her eyes and bows her head toward his. The sun moves overhead and the two of them sit in a sad circle of light. Truth can hurt. Certainly, she has been the object of unrequited love many times. She has been pursued by gods and humans alike. Many of them have been dear friends. None of them have been quite this special, though. She searches for some prayer to send up to Athena or Aphrodite; She can't quite find the words, either in Themyscrian or English. She doesn't know what to do or say.

"You wouldn't compete, Bruce," she finally tells him, deciding on absolute, unvarnished truth. "You never could. I love him. No one will ever have my heart the way Steve does. We could have resolved this though. You wouldn't have had to carry this weight for so long." A small group passes them in walking meditation. Diana is inexplicably irritated at the non-intrusion.

"It doesn't work that way," Bruce says after they pass from earshot. "I'll just have to figure out a way to live with this." She feels tears again. "You'll live but you'll be in pain," she protests. "I don't know what to do. How do I help you?"

His answer is to use his fingers to wipe away her tears, and then press his lips to her brow. "I didn't mean to upset you. I was out of line," he says quietly. She kisses his forehead in return, the way her caretakers used to when she was a child. She doesn't expect the reaction she gets. Without warning, he leans closer in and kisses her. She opens her eyes and pushes him back only semi-successfully, because he is gripping her forearms and she doesn't want to hurt him. She leaps to her feet and he stands along with her. Before she can gently step back he kisses her again and she slams her heel into his instep, causing him to let her go. She stares hard at him and says, "No." His expression is a mixture of longing, embarrassment, and sorrow. He squeezes his eyes shut. "Bruce, look at me. Talk to me," she says as gently but firmly as she can manage. When he does, his eyes flash Hulk-green. He doesn't say anything. His response is to turn around hurriedly and walk away.

Diana watches him disappear down the flagstone path toward a well-disguised stairwell on the east side of the room. The ornamental grass along the short walkway glows orange as morning finally thrusts itself in full upon the arboretum. It is her favorite time of day in one of her favorite places. Morning is always so full of promise. She shivers in the light and draws Bruce's jacket closer around her.

Diana runs into Steve about two-thirds of the way toward the main arboretum doors. "Hey! Did you remember to ask Bruce over for dinner? How was your session?" he calls out from a few yards away. She walks directly into him and throws her arms around his neck. Outside the room, Diana vaguely notices that SHIELD is officially up and running for the day. He hugs her. "Uh, I'm guessing something didn't go well? What happened?" he asks. She shakes her head. He leads her over to a concrete bench surrounded by lavender plants. "You were right," she says quietly, looking directly at him. I really didn't know. Or maybe I just didn't want to know."

Steve takes a deep breath—it's what he does when he's working to stay a moment of anger. "So, you told him it wasn't gonna happen, right? I mean, he's not gonna bother you again. Maybe you should find another time and place to do yoga and stuff on your own." He gestures to the jacket draped over her shoulders. "Do you want me to give that back to him?"

"No," she says. "I'll leave it in the Avengers wing for him…and I didn't have to say anything. He admitted his behavior was out of order. Only…"

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Only?"

"Please just let him be. He'll hurt you. But I have no secrets from you, my dearest."

Steve waits. She takes a few moments to carefully word what she tells him next. Finally she says, "I kissed him on the forehead, the way I would an injured child. I think he misconstrued it as an invitation."

If icicles could actually form in Steve's eyes, Diana would believe it has just happened. Without changing anything about his position, his body appears to go rigid. "I beg your pardon," It's more of a statement than a question. "I actually had to injure him to make him stop," she admits. "He already feels badly enough, Steve. Please let it go," she pleads. "I'm afraid I've lost an important friend. Be here for me instead."

His neck and face begin to turn pink. "Steve?" She knows that look, that rapid coloring. She lays a hand over his and tries to conjure an image for calm energy. Gently but firmly, he lifts her hand back off of his. "Don't do that palliative thing, Diana. And no way am I letting this go." He gets up and storms off. She watches sadly as he stalks toward the huge, glass-paned doors. Halfway toward the entrance to the arboretum he stops, pivots around and goes back to her. 

"I'm not mad at you," he says. "I really feel bad that this happened to you, and I promise we'll talk this over later." He holds his hand out and she takes it; he kisses her and they walk toward the doors together. He wraps his arm around her waist just a little more tightly than usual.

"Truth can be so painful," she reminds herself again. He hasn't said anything about dropping this with Bruce. Before they make it to the doors, she pulls him aside into a small alcove of flowering cacti. "I love you," she says. His eyes are like the sky in springtime. She sees is clarity and love, but she sees something else in them now as well. "He can't control himself when he's fighting. Please don't confront him. He's sorry. Let it go."

Steve looks over his shoulder, out at the empty walking path from this humid little recess of succulent plants. He turns back and kisses her deeply. She lets him for a moment, but something is wrong: that same warning fluttering. She presses him away and tells him "I am not a post, and you are not a dog." He lets go of her, frowns, and scratches his head. "Okay, you'll have to explain that one, Diana."

She sighs and folds her arms. "There is nothing of Bruce's to kiss away or cover up with your own scent, Steve." He looks away, slightly abashed. "That obvious," he half-asks and half-states. "Sorry. I guess you've got more than one fella saying that to you today," he says, smirking. It doesn't make her any less annoyed. "I didn't kiss him back. I did not permit his tongue to enter my mouth. I resisted as much as I could without seriously hurting him. Even then, he almost started changing."

He lets his shoulders slump. "I never thought otherwise, sweetheart. I'm just mad. I don't think my feelings are totally unwarranted." Diana pulls him to her again and kisses him. "I like it in here," she says, changing the subject. "I like how dangerous the flowers are." He looks at her quizzically. "Oh?" She pulls him as close against her as she can, kisses him again, and runs her hands through his hair until her index fingers meet that one spot, slightly smaller than a dime. "Any time you forget with whom I belong, think of these flowers, and this spot, and two nights ago," she whispers. That makes him smile for real and she is relieved.

"Oh, what you do to me, wife," he says. He leans in to kiss her again and they hear giggling, and a man clear his throat loudly. "Busted," he grins. He holds her hand as they walk past the small group of office workers and security guards who have wandered toward them. "Show's over. As you were," he tells them. They part ways just outside the library. A few moments later, she realizes Steve has taken Bruce's jacket from her shoulders and walked away with it.


	30. Chapter 30

Steve sits on a concrete bench outside the building to eat his sandwich, even though it is below thirty degrees. Cold weather hasn't really bothered him since his own change. His metabolism is fast, and mostly he's just warm and hungry most of the time. Feeling protected and hidden by his mirrored sunglasses, he watches traffic go by and tries not to think at all. It doesn't work. In his mind, he sees Bruce, his friend, draping his jacket over Diana's shoulders and kissing her. He doesn't get to the part of the scene where she immediately pushes him away. Once, not long after he was thawed, Pepper took him to an art gallery. He was so stressed and overwhelmed by how the art scene had changed: nothing was what he'd hoped. He kept calling Pepper "ma'am, " which eventually caused her to tell him to call her Pepper, "for fuck's sake." The gallery full of rich people and bad art, combined with his complete social uncertainty eventually made him sweat and shake, and he went outside to pull himself together. Sort of like he's doing now, he supposes. Sometimes he wishes he was still 90 pounds and able to get drunk. Only sometimes. Not really, he guesses. He thinks of how mean his father could get when he would drink. Nah.

He takes two more bites of his ham on rye and starts to break the crusts off into crumbs by mashing them between his fingers. He tosses the crust to the pigeons hopping around near the plowed piles of snow. The traffic makes most of the snow ugly and gray. What he'd found most discomfiting at the art show was the woman in the fur coat who was carrying a small dog with her. It was bug-eyed, shaking violently, and clearly didn't like the crowd. It was how he felt at the time. When Pepper found him they talked for quite some time, and when she'd begun to shiver, he immediately put his coat over her shoulders. She thought he was coming on to her and cursed at him again. It occurred to him that even dating rituals were completely foreign now. Diana wouldn't have known any better, either. In some ways she's even more of a babe in the woods about the 21st century as he is. Or maybe Bruce really had started out by trying to get her warm, by being a gentleman. Moving in on his wife though? That is most certainly not gentlemanly, nor is it in keeping with friendship, nor is it forgivable.

He takes out his book. Steve likes the Lord of the Rings series. The delineations between right and wrong are so clear, and the good guys, despite their moments of strife and doubt, prevail. Diana is right, it would probably be a bad idea to go find Bruce while either of them is mad. Bruce recommended this book. Shit. He puts it away and takes out his sketchbook. Some of the icicles hanging off the bare tulip poplar look like tiny stalactites. He really needs to confront Bruce somehow, and do it sooner than later. He watches two pigeons fight over a large piece of rye crust. Eventually, they mutilate it enough so that each of them gets part of the half, and the rest is a mush of crumbs in the snow. He draws that too. Too bad there isn't much of a career in drawing stuff anymore.

He is so lost in thought that he is startled when Thor says, "you look like you need a friend." He must have come from the opposite direction. It's always a little startling to Steve to see Thor in civilian clothes: red flannel shirt pulled over a SHIELD t-shirt, jeans, boots. He looks so…so…normal and human. When he first met Thor, Steve was truly frightened. "If there are people in space, what does that mean about the fact that this planet is split up into warring nations? People used to think Thor was a god…what if God is an alien? Is Heaven in outer space?" Five years later he still hasn't found satisfactory answers, but he has indeed found a friend: someone as out of place and time in this world as he is.

After some minutes go by, Thor tells him, "very well," and gets up to leave.

"Oh, crap, I'm sorry Thor. I was lost in thought. No, stay. It's been a bad morning. I don't think I want to talk about it. I mean, you're fine company and I'm happy to have you here. It's not you…" he stops himself before finishing the cliché.

Thor nods, and they watch as the cars go by. The exhaust makes the plowed snow lining the road dirtier and grayer. "Perhaps we should go inside and spar instead," Thor suggests.

Steve smiles. "Yeah, I feel like hitting something. Let's go spar." He gets up and heads toward the building's side entrance.

"Do you mind if I ask what happened," Thor asks, a following a few feet behind him.

"Nope. Still don't want to discuss it. It's between me and someone else."

"I mean your head injury," Thor tells him.

Steve feels his face get warm. It occurs to him that no one really wears hats anymore. He doesn't really miss them; it's just an observation. It also occurs to him that a ball cap or something might be in order whenever he's outside, at least for a while. He allows himself to smirk, since Thor can't see his face. "Oh. That's not something I want to discuss either, but I'm fine, thanks."

Inside, Steve hangs Bruce's jacket over a sparring dummy. Grasping the hilt of a longsword with both hands, he charges the dummy. He manages to push it back, but is also repelled by the opposite force. Stupid Newton and his laws. He rushes at his target a few more times with mixed successes.

Finally, Thor puts a hand on Steve's shoulder to make him wait. "If you wish to learn sword play, Captain Rogers, please, watch, and I will show you." Thor runs his own sword into his own dummy and drives it through the imaginary opponent's chest. Steve imitates the move and tries again. By his third run, dummy and jacket alike are stabbed through and through. He experiments with several angles until the jacket is mostly shredded.

Thor stares at the remains. "Did verisimilitude make it easier for you to learn that quickly?" There's a note of surprise in his voice.

"Something like that," Steve tells him. He grabs the jacket and wipes the sweat off his face. They each attach protective coverings to their swords and put on the lined, protective jackets hanging on pegs for sword practice. Then they face each other and begin in earnest. Steve has had some practice dueling before, but not with heavy swords like this. It's completely different, and he finds that when an opponent has a lifetime of practice and skill, he must completely focus on the battle. Thor is wearing him out.

In fact, after about twenty minutes of mostly parrying attacks, he is taken by surprise when a third attacker joins the fight. As Wonder Woman, Diana leaps into the fray and immediately knocks Steve to his knees by slamming the broad end of her sword into his shins, then side-kicks Thor a few yards away, causing him to drop his own sword. She leaps across the distance and slams her boot into his solar plexus; she holds the business-end of her broadsword over Thor's heart. "Stay there, you're critically wounded, she instructs Thor, who grins. Steve rushes at her. She whirls around and presses the protected sword tip into his abdomen. Even with all that protective padding, it is painful. He staggers back a few steps but doesn't drop his weapon.

They begin to spar, leaping in and away from each other, like some dangerous dance. Eventually Thor grabs her from behind and wrenches the sword from Diana's grip. "Hey, you're supposed to by dying!" she exclaims. Thor grins again. "I healed," he states, and kicks away the weapon. He swings at her and she dive down between the two men, then somersaults toward her broadsword and takes an attack stance.

After more than an hour, the three of them are finally spent. Steve lays flat on the floor and spreads his arms out. "Okay I'm done," he says. Diana laughs and pulls him to his feet. Thor tells him, "You have learned much very quickly. You should be pleased with your progress."

"Thanks pal," Steve replies.

Thor makes a small bow to Diana. "Always a pleasure fighting with you, Princess." Diana beams at him and bows back. "Take care Thor. We'll see you later."

"Do you feel better?" Diana asks after Thor leaves.

Steve starts to gather up equipment from the floor. "Yeah maybe a little. I'm still gonna have to talk to him about this at some point soon, though."

Diana nods her head and starts to hang up the protective gear. "As will I. I intend to salvage this friendship, Steve. This is very painful for me."

He shelves the last sword and walks over to hug her. "I know it is, Diana. It's hurtful for me too but I'm also angry. As far as I'm concerned he violated you. He took advantage of your nature and forced himself on you. Maybe not as badly as I know happens to other women, but…"

"But he is penitent and I defended myself," she interrupts. "You don't have to defend me."

"You're afraid he's gonna go all Hulk on me," he replies, smiling at her.

She looks him straight in the eyes. "I am terrified that he is going to change, and really hurt you." Even when he knows she's being slightly manipulative, it's not easy for Steve to say no to Diana. "It's been such a long day," she continues. "Let's finish it out without incident and then go do something fun. Pepper found a new Indian place that she says has really hot vegetable masala." Steve grimaces. K-rations sound better than strange-looking vegetables covered in yellow sauce. Curry requires about four pitchers of water just for him to tolerate the scorching behind his lips and down his throat. "How do you eat that stuff and live to tell about it?" he teases. Diana pouts and makes chicken noises at him. "Fine," he tells her. "You won the sword fight, you choose the celebratory meal." He smiles down at her. While he's changing in the men's locker room, he jams the remains of the jacket into the air slots of Bruce's locker.


	31. Chapter 31

The walk home from dinner is very quiet, and not just because of the freezing temperatures. Diana steps over a slush puddle that is beginning to re-freeze. Steve follows, and she links her arm around his. He shoves his hands in his pockets. "What's wrong?" she asks. "Oh, nothing really," he tells her. "I was just thinking about how lucky I am." Diana squeezes his arm and smiles. Steve smiles back. "Well about you too. But really I was thinking that it's good that my super-enhanced DNA makes me highly resistant to stuff like curry. I think otherwise I'd have lost the lining of my entire digestive system." "We didn't have to go there," she replies. "I could have gone some other time on my own or with a friend who likes some flavor in their food." He laughs and says, "You tasted flavor behind all that heat?" She leans her head on his shoulder. "Thank you for at least trying, my dearest."

They take their time walking. Diana wills herself to try and forget the events of the day, just for a little while. Just for these few blocks, she pretends she didn't meet Bruce for yoga this morning; he didn't confess having feelings for her; he didn't kiss her. For the fifteen-minute stroll home in the bitter cold, she gives herself permission to walk in comfortable silence with her husband after a normal day of work. They pass the news store, the used bookstore where Steve and she spend many pleasant hours, and a bus stop full of bundled-up commuters making their own way home from their day of work. It is just past six and already mostly dark. She offers a silent prayer for Persephone's safe and timely return to Earth, thus ensuring Demeter's happiness and spring's return.

A few blocks from their own building though, they hear screams. Steve runs ahead; Diana ducks into the corner grocery and into their public restroom. She runs out the emergency exit as Wonder Woman and catches up with Steve. Chaos flows out from the alley three blocks from their building. She races through the slushy trash spilling out toward the sidewalk and the street. It's easy to find Steve; he's slowly making his way toward the cause of the violence: The Hulk is tearing the entire alley apart. "Steve, go get your uniform. I'll handle things for a couple of minutes." He nods and sprints toward their home. Diana looks around for bystanders. Thankfully, there aren't many yet, and usually most of the homeless men who congregate here are the soup kitchen by now. Most of them. Two men, whom she knows as Thomas and Skip, cower in the far end. The Hulk has a cinderblock in each hand and is preparing to throw it towards them.

"BRUCE!" she screams. "ENOUGH!" He hurls the blocks at the two men, hitting Skip, who immediately crumbles in an unconscious, bloody heap. Then he turns toward Diana and snarls. She grabs her lasso and unfurls it toward The Hulk. He swats it aside before she can catch him. She grabs it back and prepares to try again, but he lurches toward her. He reaches for her with both hands and she handsprings backward, just out of his grasp. The ground is icy and slimy. "Bruce, you don't have to do this," she says. He picks up a broken glass bottle and hurls it at her. She ducks and it flies out toward a gathering of onlookers just outside the alley. She hears police sirens. "There are innocent people here Bruce, and someone is hurt," she tries again. "Let me help you…" she is silenced by an old car bumper that thwacks into her solar plexus. She easily regains her breath, picks up the bumper, and takes an attack stance with it. "I don't want to hurt you," she tells him.

Behind her, she hears Steve begin to herd onlookers to a safe distance. When the Hulk recognizes Steve's voice, he roars angrily and begins to charge the crowd and at Steve. People scream and scatter. The Hulk plows past Diana, knocking her backward. He advances on Steve, who pushes him back a couple of feet with his shield. "Hey buddy, we can try to resolve things, but not when either of us is mad," he tries. The Hulk charges him again and Steve pushes back again.

While Steve works toward wearing down Bruce, Diana runs to the end of the alley to check on the two men. Thomas kneels in the filthy snow, cradling his companion's head. Diana checks Skip's pulse, which is thready. "Keep his head up like this," she shows Thomas. "That's right." She pulls her SHIELD communicator out from her belt and contacts paramedics. Really, it is meant for Avenger emergencies, but she is an Avenger, and this is an emergency as far as she's concerned. She gets a safe distance from the men and whistles to the Hulk. "Over here!" The Hulk slams Steve into a wall and heads for Diana again. Diana takes a flying kick to The Hulk's head, making him fall onto his back. He howls in frustrated rage. Steve peels himself from the ground. He takes advantage of The Hulk's prone position and leaps to attack, straddling him and punching him in the face. Steve stuns him enough so that Diana has time to lasso him. When he's secured, she puts her hand on his face and finds in her mind an image of tranquility. Within five minutes, SHIELD paramedics and agents and District police are on the scene, and Bruce Banner lies on the ground, lassoed and unconscious.

Diana is in no mood for a debriefing or a news interview. What she really wants is to go home and wash off the literal and emotional filth she's feeling right now. She watches as Thomas runs alongside the stretcher that carries his friend. Diana stops the paramedics and tells them, "This man is the patient's family. He needs to stay with him…and please see that he gets a shower and clean clothes and a meal." The paramedics smile and nod and promise that both men will be well-seen-to. Sometimes, being the embodiment of Aphrodite, with almost all of her gifts, is extremely useful. Steve handles reporters as Diana does her best to convince the SHIELD agents that the debriefing can wait until tomorrow. Then she joins Steve. She tells reporters that she is off to go get Diana out of hiding. "Uh, yeah," Steve says. "I sent Diana to go call the Avengers," Diana adds, "And I made her promise to stay where she was until someone from SHIELD came to get her. So um, that's what I'm going to do now." She runs off before anyone can push her for details.

At home, Diana sits against the wall in the shower and lets the hot water rain over her. Steam fills the room, and Steve nearly steps on her when he comes in to join her. "Oh, sweetheart," he says. He sits next to her and lets her bury her head into his chest. "This is my fault," she tells him. "I should have looked for him today. I should have made him talk to me."

"Nope," he replies. "Not your fault, nothing you could have done. Bruce knows how to bring himself down before he gets like that. He can tell when it's coming. This is all on him." She shakes her head 'no.' "He's our friend. I let him down. If I'd talked to him he might not have gotten this angry in the first place." Steve takes her head in his hands so he can look at her directly. "He's a grown man and he has to own his behaviors and their consequences. If Skip dies, that's on him. Whatever consequences come of this, it's all on him."

He stands and then helps her up. Droplets bounce off of his body, sending up mists of colored prisms. He steers her around to face the shower wall. She rests her palms and cheek against the wet tile and lets him move her wet hair over her shoulders, and then massage bath oil over her back. The musky flower scent winds its way into her lungs as Steve's hands press into her; the knots along her spine begin to unwind. It hasn't been a good day, but it's had its moments of beauty. She thinks about Steve's mild dinner of tandoori chicken and rice, and of how amusingly pink his face got when he tasted a bit of her curry. She'd warned him it was spicy. He works his hands down her legs. She thinks about kissing him in the cactus alcove this morning, and how even in his anger at Bruce, he'd turned back to her because she needed him. He kneels behind her and rubs oil into the hollow space behind each knee, then the tops of her feet and each toe, and back up her shins and calves, one leg at a time. She feels like she might slide back to the floor along with all the thoughts and images that puddle past her feet and swirl down the drain. All that is left are Steve's slightly calloused hands on her skin, digging into her muscles. They move up her thighs. She looks down and watches as he flattens his palm to make slow, firm circles over and over her belly, abdomen, between her breasts and around each one. The tile against her cheek, palms and forearms is cool in contrast to everywhere her husband's hands have been. She lingers there, letting him kiss the nape of her neck.

This moment is beautiful; the water-reflected light raining down on them is beautiful. She reaches up for Steve's soap, whose scent reminds her of summertime, and then turns around, steps behind him, and washes him back. She pushes her fingers deep into his shoulders and along the sides of his neck and he exhales quietly. She thinks about the afternoon's swordplay with him and Thor. She traces the outlines of Steve's muscles and vertebrae as she presses her soapy hands into him. He rarely lets her do this. He usually insists on giving rather than receiving comfort. It is their biggest ongoing argument. She moves her hands back up his left arm, kneading his wrist and forearm, softly treading the pads of her fingers along his veins. All she feels is gratitude for this moment, and the visceral sensation of his body releasing under her hands. She takes her time and watches the water pool down his bicep into the crook of his arm. She works her way up to his shoulder and switches arms. Touching her husband like this, while the artificial humidity and summer scents envelop them, makes her forget everything about this day for a few moments at a time. She moves in front of him and he leans against the wall. She stands on her toes and kisses him. His mouth tastes clean and warm. "I love you," she tells him. She doesn't know why it makes her begin to cry when she tells him this. He kisses her back and says he loves her too. She re-lathers her hands quickly and starts to work soap into his chest and torso. When she washes his sex, he is automatically aroused but he gently discourages her from spending time there. Yes, there were achingly beautiful moments today. Even those few, torturously honest moments with Bruce this morning had their own kind of beauty to them because they were so truthful. She just wishes the truth were different. She remembers Skip and Thomas and the other men yesterday, and giving them sandwiches and clean blankets while they were waiting for the soup kitchen to re-open. "Oh, Bruce," she thinks, "what have we all done?"

She massages shampoo into Steve's scalp and notices the small bald patch is starting to fill in already. There is certainly beauty in this moment also: not just the fact of his physical loveliness, but the deeper beauty of the comfort they bring to each other. Sometimes they don't even have to talk, and a sense of peace arises just by being near one another, like now. He rinses his head and then leans into his wet nakedness, resting her head on his chest again. He pulls her close, smooths her hair down her back, and kisses the top of her head. "We'll go by the shelter in the morning and let everyone know what happened, and then we'll go by the infirmary and check on everyone," he assures her.

That night, neither of them wants to talk about it. There isn't much to say anyway; it's all too fresh. They watch a movie, just to escape. Steve chooses one that Tony had given him as a kind of joke, some sort of commentary on what he'd originally seen as Steve's ethical stance. "We could do that," Diana says.

Steve pauses the movie and looks over at her. "Which part? Move to the North Pole? Stop missiles with our bare hands? Or fly so fast we reverse the Earth's spin?" He snatches the popcorn from between her fingers before she gets it to her mouth.

"Hey!" She laughs, though. "I mean we could patrol the city and save people from everyday crime, instead of just the big stuff. It might be a nice change."

He shakes his head, amused. "You and I have very different ideas of what "nice" means, sometimes. Besides, Wonder Woman and Cap aren't busy enough already?" He leans in and kisses her. They forget the movie. Outside somewhere is a bird, a plane.


	32. Chapter 32

"These are from her," Steve says blandly. He sets the plastic vase of daffodils on the table next to Bruce's hospital bed. "Tell her thanks from me," Bruce mutters back. Steve nods and sits in the straight-backed chair opposite the vitals monitor. He watches the lines that measure blood pressure and respiration and taps his fingers on his knee. He needs to confront this. He knows that. Personally, right now he'd rather put his fist into Bruce's face again, but Bruce is not the Hulk right now. In fact, he's pretty well secured to the bed just in case that happens. He stares at the machinery. "So." He says. He can't think of anything to say after that. Bruce doesn't look at him, either. "Was there something you wanted to say?" he finally asks Steve.

"Lots." He replies stonily. He wonders if there are cameras in the room, just like almost everywhere else in the damned building. There are plenty of things he can say. Bruce is supposed to be his friend. He isn't even sure he can trust him as a colleague anymore now. He's sure there are nurses monitoring Bruce, security people monitoring this visit. The connection of his gloved fist and Bruce's face sure was satisfying yesterday, though. He wishes there was a clock with a second hand in here. Why aren't there analog clocks on walls anymore to mete out awkward pauses? He switches from fingers to feet, jostling his knee up and down.

"Then please quit fidgeting and just say it and leave," Bruce tells him. The numbers on the blood pressure monitor increase slightly.

"So I'm conflicted," Steve finally admits. He steadies his feet and clenches and releases his fists a few times. "I mean, all the stuff that happened is going to change things. Diana and I are both really

disappointed about that. But she and I have talked it over and we want things to be okay between all of us. I'm pissed off at you for making a pass at her, but we need to make things right."

He waits. Bruce looks down at the book he'd been reading and says nothing. "In case you're at all interested in that," Steve adds, annoyed. He crosses his arms and imagines a second hand ticking somewhere. Modern life is too noisy and too quiet. After a few moments, Bruce asks him, "Was that everything?"

Steve gets up, kicks the chair closer to Bruce's bed and turns it around so he can straddle it. "NO!" he half yells, squeezing the chair back's edges. Bruce whips his head around. His eyes flash green and the monitors emit a high-pitched whine as his vitals spike. Three orderlies plow into the room along with a male nurse holding a big syringe. "It's fine," Bruce whispers hoarsely. "I don't need that; we're fine." The nurse looks at Steve, who nods curtly. "I'll call you if we need you," he reassures them. When they leave, Bruce tells him, "Now is a bad time for this."

"When's good, Bruce?" Steve retorts. In battle? In front of the team at a meeting?" They glare at each other. "Diana still believes you're a good man with a good heart. I WANT to concur, but from where I'm sitting you can go to hell right now."

Neither of them breaks the stare. "This is moronic," Steve thinks. He takes a deep breath and tries again. "Look," he says. I know you haven't been yourself since this past fall. I don't know what to do here. I mean, I get that it's really easy to fall in love with Diana. I do. But you were outta line and I'm doing my best to be tolerant for the sake of everything you've been to us. I'm guessing you were on your way to see us last night and try to work things out, right?"

"Well as you saw, that didn't go well. You should leave. Now is not a good time," Bruce reiterates. Once again, the monitor numbers increase slightly. For that matter, Steve's own heart rate feels like it's spiking. He grips the metal back of the chair so tightly it bends slightly. "I am TRYING to DO THE RIGHT THING, Bruce! You KISSED my WIFE! If she weren't as strong as she is, you could have HURT her! And speaking of hurting people, the one guy you clonked in the head with a freakin' cinderblock happens to be an Iraq veteran, a friend of ours, and he's in a coma! How am I the one in the wrong here?"

Bruce also takes a couple of slow, deep breaths. He narrows his eyes. "You aren't an idiot Steve. You can't have misunderstood what I just said. I don't want to test the restraints on the bed. I don't want to hurt you or anyone else. PLEASE. GO."

Instead, Steve folds his arms to indicate he isn't going anywhere. "I'm sure as hell smart enough to know we need to settle the score so I can trust you again—both in the field and around my wife. I'm certainly smart enough to know doing it in a controlled environment where you're strapped down is a better option than an alleyway where you nearly kill innocent people."

Bruce appears to consider this for a moment. "Sorry about your friend, man." A female nurse walks in. She looks familiar, but Steve can't place her. She checks his monitors and tsks. "Doctor Banner, is this man stressing you?" she asks sweetly. The voice is familiar as well. Maybe she was on staff when Diana was in the hospital. It occurs to Steve that he's been sitting at too many hospital bedsides lately. The nurse's name badge says, "Erin Night." "We're fine, ma'am," Steve tells her. He tries to twist his expression into something that at least doesn't denote irritation. She smiles and nods. She injects something into Bruce's i.v., chides them to behave, and exits. He wonders if maybe they really have been on live TV this whole time. Fantastic.

They're silent for a few moments. "You were saying you're sorry about Skip and Thomas, and?" Steve finally offers.

"And what?" Bruce replies, smirking. Isn't Diana all about truth? I bet she's glad I got it all out in the open."

"Are you TRYING to start another fight?"

"Nah. I'm done for now," Bruce says. They don't break eye contact. "Whatever the hell is wrong with you I hope you snap out of it soon," Steve replies as evenly as he can. He feels his whole body get hot. He'd always thought "hot under the collar" was just an expression until now. Bruce laughs and adjusts his own morphine drip. A few seconds later his eyes close, his head rolls on the pillow. Steve allows his shoulders to slump a bit and he rubs his palms over his face. He wonders how he's ever going to work with Bruce again. He wonders what he's going to tell Diana.


	33. Chapter 33

It is so small she nearly steps on it. She looks down and there it is, just an inch from her boots: a purple crocus bud. Diana kneels down to inspect it. The flower is wrapped so tightly she is amazed it can even breathe. She peels off a glove with her teeth, so she can touch it. It stirs at her fingers. "It isn't time yet, little one," she whispers. "Not quite yet." She moves her hand over the slush and snow to see what else stirs beneath: dozens of sprouts, barely poking up from the mushy ground. She hovers her palm over them as if she can give them nourishment. She certainly feels nourishment from them. She inhales the cold and wet dirt and imagines green tendrils unwinding down her windpipe, through her lungs, out her feet. Like these flowers, she too, desires and revels in forming roots. Then she moves the snow back again. "Be warm and safe, precious beings," she tells them. This is her gift from Demeter: great strength drawn to and from this Earth. She bows her head slightly and silently prays. "Soon," she tells this particular godmother. "Your child will be home soon. These are her emissaries."

Yoga was not the same this morning without Bruce. She chose her same place under the lemon tree. She likes that spot not just because it is warm and somewhat secluded; the fruit reminds her of the sun. The bright yellow rind is sweet and belies the bitter, stringy pith that connects to the pulpy meat. Once, in their early days of practicing together, Bruce stared at her open-mouthed when she picked a lemon off the tree, broke it open and bit down into the fruit, sucking down its juice. "Lemons taste like daylight," she explained to him. He just stared, making the same face Steve makes when she does that. She laughed and offered him a bite. He joked that at least she was in no danger of getting scurvy. A few weeks ago, Bruce said to her that her presence probably made the lemons sweet. She laughed at the idea. Today's practice was centering, but it left a slight bitter taste somewhere at the back of her tongue. She knows that taste; it's similar to how she felt the first time she said goodbye to Steve, in her disjointed English, almost a century ago. They found their way back to each other. She and her friend will find their way back together as well because they have to. The alternative is unbearably sour.

Someone waves and calls her name: a low-level agent who often spends time studying for his promotion exams at the library. She smiles at him and waves back. He takes it as an invitation and jogs over. "Hello Agent Jensen," she says. He blushes and tells her "please, call me Alex…what are you doing?" She points at the one emergent crocus tip. "Convincing springtime to get here faster," she replies. A robin hops over and lands on Diana's shoulder for a moment, chirps, and flies off again. Agent Alex Jensen stares at her open-mouthed. She smiles and shrugs again. Sometimes Artemis's gifts present themselves at inopportune times. "I must resemble a worm," she jokes. Alex turns bright red and shakes his head. "Naw," he says. "I think everyone's just drawn to you." Then he freezes for a moment and looks over his shoulder. "I didn't mean disrespect or anything, ma'am."

Diana tosses her head back and laughs out loud. The sky is clear for the first time in what feels like months and part of her wants to take off into the clouds. "I promise I will keep your compliment from Captain Rogers if you truly fear him," she replies. "I really don't think you should though." Alex Jensen relaxes. "Thanks. I'm in his training group that meets today. I'm nervous enough as it is."

"As well you should be," Steve calls from a yard or so away. Diana turns and smiles up at him, extending her hand. Agent Jensen leaps to his feet and salutes. Instead of kneeling down next to Diana to see what she's looking at, Steve salutes back and then helps Diana to her feet, pulling her a little closer to himself than to Alex. She pretends not to notice the possessive gesture. "I was just telling my friend here that he has nothing to worry about…that you are very fair when you train and evaluate agents," she tells him. She notices Alex practically whither under her husband's scowl. "As you were," Steve tells him. Diana reaches out and takes the poor man's hand in hers for a moment, and thinks of an image of encouragement. He smiles, blushes furiously, then practically runs away from the scene.

"You have GOT to stop doing that, Diana," Steve tells her. He sounds irritated. She explains, "He is nervous and needlessly afraid. He is always polite and kind when he comes into the library to study for his written exams. No one deserves to suffer needlessly, love. He's a good man." She knows what he thinks before she says it. He puts a hand on each of her shoulders and holds her out at arm's-length. "That's what you said about our other friend, too." She allows herself to fall into Steve's outstretched arms. "I'm sorry," she tells him. "How did it go this morning? Did you two talk?"

She feels his back and shoulders stiffen a little. "I see," she whispers. "There's an Avengers meeting at 16:00," he tells her. His voice is soft and reassuring as if he were trying to soothe her, rather than pass along information. "Was it that bad?"

He says nothing. The small courtyard is deserted and they stand together in the slush and mud, next to the small patch of emerging spring flowers. There is no breeze. Despite the sunshine, even the robins are absent. Eventually, Steve's stomach rumbles loudly and Diana giggles. He doesn't, though. "Please tell me," she pleads. He shakes his head. "I'd better go," he tells her. Training's in an hour and I need to eat and prepare." Before she can offer to join him for lunch, he kisses her very softly, and then turns on his heel and walks off. She watches his form disappear into the building, and then, in Themyscrian, whispers to the crocuses, "Please get here soon. Please." 


	34. Chapter 34

Steve goes to the weight room instead of his office, but there are too many people there. To be fair, most of the people are there because he ordered them to go, so he swallows his irritation and beats a quick retreat before any trainees see him. He doesn't feel like finding a sparring partner. Or to be more accurate, he's afraid he'll hurt whomever spars with him. So he makes his way to the older part of the building where the boxing equipment is kept, intending just to hit things for a while. When he opens the door though, he can tell something isn't quite right. "Diana?"

She steps out of the shadows and goes to him. She is wearing her Wonder Woman gear. She doesn't say anything. She just smirks and holds a brown paper bag out to him.

He feels a little faint and remembers that in his desire to pout, he forgot that he needed to eat. Super Soldier metabolism means having to keep stores of energy constant. Diana hasn't forgotten that either, however. In the bag are a turkey sandwich and a bottle of water. He shouldn't be so annoyed that she's right. What's wrong with him? "Thanks, honey," he tells her and takes the food from her. She leads him to sit by the raised sparring ring and waits for him to say something. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz and crackle, and only light up the immediate area of the boxing ring. The glare bounces from her tiara into his eyes, making him squint.

"So was there a non-police related crime? Another riot? Is Eris back?" He asks, gesturing to the costume. She smiles. "No. It's just that you're in a…" she trails off. He can tell she's searching for the right idiom. "Funk?" he suggests. Diana nods. "I thought we should talk but knew you might prefer to spar. I wanted to get here before you did. There was no time to change into workout clothes."

He can't help relaxing a little bit. In fact, he realizes he's smiling back. "You've got all the angles covered, don't you?" he jokes. He finishes off his sandwich and takes a few swallows of water. She doesn't reply. She stands up and climbs into the ring, and holds her hand out for him to join her. "I don't think there are gloves here that'll fit you, sweetheart," he says. Before he can say anything else though, all the air huffs from his lungs and he doubles over. "I am Diana, Princess of Themyscira and the greatest of the race of Amazonian Warriors," she growls. "I am a goddess. I do not require gloves, human soldier." She takes a classic boxing stance. He doesn't have long to think about the fact that Diana *never* refers to herself as a princess or a goddess; that in fact, she is the first to correct others when they refer to her that way. She renounced those titles. Steve can only guess that she's waiting for him to stop wheezing, which only takes a second or two. For the next thirty minutes, he does his best to not hit or punch his wife. He knows this is why she'll rarely spar with him. He just can't bring himself to hurt or even pretend to hurt, the person he loves most.

Eventually though, he lunges forward and kicks her legs out, causing her to fall backward. When she cries out and winces, he immediately goes to her though. It's a trick. As soon as "Uh-oh, did I hurt you" comes out, she bares her teeth and head butts him backward. "Are you ready to have a conversation yet?" she asks as he takes a moment to see straight. "That was not fair, Diana," he replies. From his semi-supine position on the floor, she towers over him. "I asked you a question," she replies firmly. He nods and reaches for her extended arm. Instead of allowing her to pull him up, he yanks her to the floor and grapples her into a wrestler's hold. She laughs that deep, throaty laugh whose sound normally reverberates down into places that make him want to do things other than fight. It's the second indicator that something isn't quite right. Diana isn't quite Diana. This isn't her fighting style. She wriggles free from his grasp, squats over him, and pins his hands to the floor over and behind his head. "Talk yet?" She asks again. Her face hovers over his, and her breastplate is only about an inch from his chest. "No way," he replies.

She leans down and kisses him hard, with her mouth closed. He clenches his jaw and tries to push her away, but he can't. That's number three, he decides. Four, really. This woman is not his wife. She doesn't smell right, her lips are rough and not quite the right shape, and although Diana is unnaturally strong, he can push her back. She finally breaks off the kiss. "Who are you?" he asks. He narrows his eyes as if trying to see through a veil. He starts to sit up, only to realize he can't move.

Before she can reply, the locked door crashes in, and he hears Diana's voice. The voice is angry, and it is speaking in a language that is not quite Themiscrian and not quite Ancient Greek. The only word he clearly recognizes is "Eris." Even though he can't move, Steve hears the click of Diana's boots…her *real* Wonder Woman boots, as she nears the ring. Then he sees a shadow and the weight is off is chest and arms. He hears a body whoosh across the ring and land with a loud thud. "Don't try to move yet," Diana commands. It isn't a problem, really. He can't even roll over into the corner. Diana drags him by the armpits and props him up against the ropes. She throws her body over his to shield him as Eris lunges at them. "Close your eyes," she tells him.

So he complies because, in truth, his eyes won't quite focus anyway. What the hell did Eris do to him? How did Diana even know to come here? For that matter how did Eris know? How did Eris know to bring food? Okay, most people know that part, he supposes. His mind is the only thing that seems to move ably all over the place, and he tries to focus. Maybe there's something to Bruce's mindfulness training, after all. Freakin' Bruce. Ugh.

He hears fighting: flesh hitting armor and flesh. One of the women cries out, and he hears a liquid, ripping sound. Something snaps…bone? Both women are still standing. They are shouting at each other in a language that he can only describe as primal and ancient. He wonders if this is the language of the gods. Time passes. One of the women screams and something explodes. It feels as if a half-dozen flash-bang grenades have gone off, and even with his paralyzed body and closed eyes, Steve feels as if his bones nearly shatter and liquefy.

He doesn't know how much time has passed when he finally feels solid again. He knows Diana is there. He senses that spicy-sweetness on her skin and on her breath when she leans around to kiss his temple. He doesn't try to move yet; he lets her support him, as if he were a life-sized ragdoll of himself. It is definitely his wife's sweet, authoritative voice that tells him, "Relax, we're out of danger for now." He listens to her debrief someone—Coulson? It sounds like Coulson's voice asking questions. She says, "Can't the doctors wait, Phil? He's fine. He'll be fine. Please?" Coulson grunts something and three figures get up and leave. "Get him home," Phil tells Diana. He opens his eyes and outlines of things gradually focus. There is a gigantic crater in the middle of the boxing ring.

They sit there alone for a while. Diana runs her nails across his brow and through his hair. She ums a soothing tune he knows she loved as a child. She moves his elbows and wrists around in circles to keep his circulation moving. "Thank you," he eventually manages to squeak. He wiggles his fingers and toes on his own and sits up to face her. "How long?"

"Eris and me fighting? A few minutes. You recovering from her attack and then the explosion as she escaped? A couple of hours." She gestures toward the hole in the floor. "That happened when I slammed her into the ground. I don't know where she is."

Steve nods. He steadies himself on one of the ropes and pulls himself up to standing. Diana stands with him and he hugs her. "I'm really sorry," he says. "I should've just talked to you. It's been a pretty crummy couple of days, hasn't it?" Diana doesn't reply right away, but her breath is even and deep. He kisses the top of her head and twists some of her hair into his loose fist. "I won't push you away anymore" he promises. "I was…" he doesn't finish the thought because her mouth is on his. It is *her* kiss, her soft, strong mouth, her sharp little teeth, her deceptively delicate face against his and he surrenders. When they stop kissing, they press their brows together. She whispers, "You ridiculous man. Never forget love. Never forget that love is everything." His eyes are closed but he feels her cold tears creep down his face, over the bridge of his nose. He's a moron and she, as usual, is right. "When this is all over we are going on vacation," he hears himself promise. We are getting so far away from here. I don't even care if it's Themyscira; you and I need to be off the grid."

He opens his eyes and Diana is in her street clothes again. He fumbles in a pocket for a handkerchief and then wipes her tears away. "Let's just go home for now," she tells him. He hops out of the ring and guides her down next to him. She takes his offered arm and says, "Right now, home and dinner and a shower, and just being with you are perfect. Take me home." One thing Steve Rogers is very good at is following orders from a trusted commander. They take the more circuitous back way out of the building and around to where the motorcycle is parked. He takes his wife home.


	35. Chapter 35

He should know better than to try to get serious work done with this many people around. The tree was about to be perfect. It's not easy to get perfect shading on anything when your materials are cardboard and water-based poster paint. There was a shout of "DADDY!" a pair of hands around his throat from behind, and now, an ugly black streak across a tree trunk and part of an otherwise pale blue sky. Steve sighs, puts down the paintbrush and flips his six-year-old upside-down, over his head, and into his lap. He isn't mad; he's looking down at a childish, blonde version of Diana. He grabs her by the ankles, stands up and dangles her over a paint pan full of sky-blue. "I'm so glad you're here to help, my dear," he exclaims. "Your hair is just the right length to use as a paintbrush!" He slowly lowers her towards the paint, and she screams, which results in about a half-dozen other first graders running in their direction, trampling most of the set-in-progress for next week's school assembly. He rights his daughter onto her feet and tells her and her companions, "Give me about ten minutes, guys. Let me fix this tree and then we'll play for a little while before it's time to get home." A few kids start to whine, but Sarah pulls herself up tall, places her hands on her hips, and reminds her friends that they've been issued an order. She corrals the group back outside and Steve grins. Then he returns to the task of cleaning the backdrop for "Red Riding Hood," starring Sarah Rogers as "The Grandmother."

It is just a few days before April, and Steve lays in bed with his eyes closed, unwilling to let go of the dream. He hears Bruce and Diana in the kitchen. Bruce has said something that made Diana laugh. He swore he was okay with this: with slowly rebuilding their broken friendship. It wasn't even Diana's idea, although she was thrilled to try. No, this happened as a result of some "team-building" exercises implemented by SHIELD powers-that-be over the last couple of weeks, accompanied by group therapy. It's the kind of thing he could see himself making other people do, but never imagined having to do himself. The upshot is that before any field work happens that involves Diana, Bruce, and himself, barring emergencies, forced healing will happen. So, Diana and Bruce are drinking tea in the kitchen, post-yoga, and waiting for Steve to join them for a run this early Saturday morning. "Hey Diana, can I steal you away for a few minutes?" he calls out.

She walks into the room, smiles, and sits next to him at the edge of the bed. "Good morning my love," she tells him and kisses him.

He sits up and hugs her. "I just wanted a little time with you before I had to share you," he says into her neck.

Diana laughs. "You can have all the time you want after we run. One hour or so and I am all yours." She kisses his nose, then his mouth. It's all the motivation he needs to get the day started.

Bruce nods and smiles cautiously when Steve eventually joins them. Running laps at a park isn't a bad way to start rebuilding their friendship. No one has to talk, like in the team-building sessions; they don't have to touch each other or act like they're especially interested in what one or the other has to say. They just have to run laps. So for an hour, they do just that; occasionally their paces match, their breathing falls into a uniform rhythm, and after a few miles they shake hands and part ways. Steve still thinks the handshake between Bruce and Diana is a little longer, a little tenderer than necessary, but he keeps it to himself.

It rains all afternoon, and they spend most of it strolling around the National Gallery. He lingers in front of Blake's "Job and His Daughters," and tells Diana, "I had another dream." She hugs him. "Should we talk?"

He shrugs. "I'm trying to decide whether it's something I really want or something I'm reacting to," he replies honestly. "I mean, once this threat with Eris or Dionysus, or whoever we're dealing with is really over, I don't know that I'd have a problem walking away from my commission and doing something else. What do you think?"

Diana is quiet for a few moments. She stares either at or past the Blake drawing, holding tightly to Steve's hand. Finally, she says, "First, neither Bruce nor I will be fully healed until this threat is finished. Even after fighting with her a few weeks ago, I was weak afterwards. Also, I think we've been married for less than a year, and it hasn't been an easy year at that. I'm barely used to being a mostly-human woman in Man's World, I'm still getting the hang of being married, and I don't know how to be anything other than a warrior for peace."

Steve tightens his grip on her hand, even as he feels his heart sink a bit. "Oh." He doesn't successfully hide the disappointment.

"I'm not saying 'no,'" Diana continues. "But I won't lie and say the idea doesn't in equal parts attract and terrify me. I'm ready to put this ridiculous and deadly game of the gods behind us once and for all, but I don't think I'm ready to stop being Wonder Woman. Not yet."

They stand quietly for a few breaths. She tells him, "The world is in transition. Persephone is coming home to Demeter, and the Earth is waking up. A change in seasons means renewal, but it doesn't mean we should overhaul everything at once, my dearest."

She doesn't sound entirely convinced, Steve thinks. Or maybe he just wants that to be the case. As if reading his mind, she adds, "Perhaps another year or two or three. I just want to be us for a little longer, before there are little ones, and all the strange responsibilities career changes they come with. Right now, I just want you."

She pulls him close and kisses him, and he doesn't really care that people are starting to take pictures with their phones. Her mouth is so soft, and her breath is so warm. Last year, the idea of even holding her hand in public made him nervous and slightly sweaty. Right now, he's reasonably sure that Diana is his source of oxygen and sustenance, and tourists can take as many pictures of him breathing as they like.

That evening, he watches her as she sleeps. Her bare skin glows in the reflected moonlight. Even with pad and pencil in hand, he's torn between drawing her and waking her up to make love again. The fact is that nothing else really seems to exist without her presence. He knows she can take care of herself, and that he is unlikely to lose her in battle. He knows she loves him, and he is not going to lose her to Bruce or anyone else. He doesn't have to run. He doesn't have to stop saving the world—at least not yet. On paper, he traces over her form as if running his finger over her flesh. When the paper no longer serves as a substitute, he puts the sketchbook aside and gently places a hand on her waist. She smiles, half-asleep, and presses toward him. She opens her eyes and he's taken in by the entire sky and ocean as she wraps her fingers through his own. "You are absolutely everything to me," he says quietly. He scoots closer and kisses her shoulder, moves his mouth across her collarbone to the hollow of her throat, and she slides her leg over him and meets him for a kiss. He barely registers the sketchbook fall to the floor. The night and early hours of the morning come in waves of love and sleep. On Sunday morning, before getting out of bed, he reaches down to put his sketchbook away properly. He is surprised that on paper, Diana's belly is round and swollen. It glows silver as Artemis' arrows, radiant as last night's full moon. He stuffs the book in his nightstand drawer before she wakes to see it.


	36. Chapter 36

The wind whips through Diana's hair so roughly that she thinks it might dread if she goes any faster. So she does it, just to see. She flies further up into the pure blue, through and past the damp, wispy clouds and into the vast air. Steve was called away on a mission this morning. It was five a.m. They'd only fallen asleep an hour earlier, and next thing he was packing his duffel, strapping on his shield. By six, Tony was waiting to drive Steve and himself to Andrews AFB for parts unknown, for an unspecified period. Diana hates goodbyes when it comes to Steve. She doesn't worry much about his safety; she has complete faith in Steve's ability to take care of himself and others. Plus, bad news has a way of traveling quickly. If he needs her, she will find him. Tony looked so reluctant and sorry, watching them say their goodbyes. Steve hardly even spoke. He just stared into her eyes until his own began to tear, and he kissed her. "As soon as I can," he started to say, but she broke off the sentence with another kiss. She already knew.

So now, she takes advantage of this lonely, untethered feeling and soars into a sky almost as clear and blue as Steve's eyes. She holds her arms straight alongside her torso and imagines some goddess has thrown her like a spear, toward an imaginary giant. Whatever threatens the world below, Diana will shoot through it as cleanly as Athena's spear or one of Artemis' arrows. Maybe someday she'll go so fast, she'll manage to break the sound barrier. It's been much too long since she's flown like this. It's been decades, actually.

It occurs to her she is never going to outfly her thoughts or her pain. There's simply too much, and even as the sun warms her, the air is cold. Would Apollo help her if she got too close to the sun? Only if he still needs her (which he probably does). Otherwise, he'd let her burn and crash like Icarus. Steve would never let her get that close. All Steve wants is to keep her safe. He wants to make the world safe so that eventually they can stop doing this, settle into some domestic harmony, do good works, and raise a family. Isn't that what they both want?

What she wants is to fly faster. Somewhere West, in a place called Central City, she'd heard that there was a man who could run faster than the speed of sound. She heard he could suppress tsunamis with his vibrations. She doubts even he could outrun emotional distress, however. She wanted this. She wanted to be in Man's World, with Steve, and make it a better place. She doesn't belong in Themyscira, at least not anymore. She doesn't want to rule, nor does she want to live in a gilded cage. Perhaps that is what she's trying to outfly. If she settles down now, she will not merely abandon the world she's sworn to protect. She is necessary to its protection but not solely so. There will always be other heroes.

No, if she and Steve resign their commissions, turn in their respective shield and lasso, they abandon who they are. Loving Steve fiercely and completely, loving their potential children fiercely, would not be enough. While there are injustice and real danger, she cannot simply turn her back and hope someone else fights for peace. She knows Steve feels the same, deep down. She did not walk away from one protected island to exist in a different one called marital domesticity. If she were to conceive now, she honestly isn't sure what she would want to do. She might pray to the goddesses or her mother to come and relieve her somehow. She and Steve are warriors and servants of the world. They cannot serve fully and have the kind of life together they've said they want. Neither of them will walk away from their responsibilities willingly. She knows that he knows this as well. One day they will both be ready. Steve thinks he's ready now, but she knows better. One day though, she, Diana Rogers, with Steve at her side, will stand outside of SHIELD for a press conference. She will transform into Wonder Woman on camera. She will answer questions. Then, she will transform again, and hand over her costume to the director of the Smithsonian, perhaps, and she will walk away. Then they will have their children, their typical, idyllic lives, their jobs, and their mundane habits. She does want that. She doesn't want it quite yet. She wishes she did, though.

She practices some hairpin turns, creating sharp angles in the air. She stops short from full speed and hovers, standing on nothing. She is so high up that she can't see the ground. She wonders who can see her from their towers and control booths. As if from a diving board, she dives head-first, spiraling straight down until she lands very lightly on the roof of SHIELD's arboretum. It is only 7:00. Diana knows this because through the glass ceiling she sees that the waterfall has just turned on. From where she stands, she sees Bruce take up his meditation position in their spot by the lemon tree. It's the first time she has seen him there since that morning almost a month ago. She silently wishes peace and love to her friend, and takes off again. "There is another loved one," she thinks, "who feels lost on his journey." Here is the true consequence of the goddess of discord's presence on Earth: it isn't the meltdown of relationships. It isn't the sicknesses she and Bruce have endured, and it isn't the kidnappings or battle injuries. Eris's true legacy, Diana realizes, will be to have shoved them all off of the paths they thought were so clear and bright. Eris has made it so that each of them must now re-evaluate the strength of their relationships with each other and their commitments to their planned journeys through life.

In an odd way, Diana feels gratitude for Eris's presence, despite the pain the goddess has caused. She whispers a prayer to Athena for guidance and to Demeter for clarity.

In the distance, somewhere near the DC Mall, she hears disturbance and flies in its direction. She spends the next two hours patrolling, disrupting crimes in progress. By 9:00, Wonder Woman has prevented a stabbing, three muggings, a carjacking, and a gang fight. She's finished moping. By the time she returns to headquarters she feels more alive than she has in such a long time. She knows what she needs to do.


	37. Chapter 37

"I've had more than two thousand years of practice, but I am beginning to lose my patience, Nyx." Diana clenches her fists and digs her nails into her palms. Nyx continues to stand directly in front of her. He smiles without breaking eye contact. "I can help you. You have gamma radiation coursing through your veins. There are doctors and scientists here who can help you control it. Dr. Banner himself could help you," she offers. "Tell me where to find The Concordance Group's base of operations. Help me end this violence for everyone's sake."

She takes a step closer to where he stands. If not for the force field between herself and Nyx's cell, she could place her lasso over him and extract the information she needs. She's tempted to lower the invisible wall between them and do it, regardless of SHIELD's rules.

"I dare you," Nyx replies as if reading her mind. "Use your lasso on me. You know my new powers are weak. I'm no threat to you. Do it, Wonder Woman." He straightens his posture and lets his hands relax at his sides, palms out, in a gesture of confident surrender. In the dim florescent light of this prison, he looks small and weak to Diana: just an ordinary man in an ordinary gray prison jumpsuit. She hesitates, and then lowers her hand toward the gold length of rope coiled at her hip.

"DON'T!" Natasha practically screams from the staircase a few feet away. Her voice echoes through the empty interrogation room. She jumps over the last few stairs and takes a few wide, purposeful steps toward Diana. She turns to face Nyx. "He knows something. He wouldn't taunt you like this if he thought you could get sensitive information from him."

Diana glances at her friend and relaxes her shoulders. "I don't know what else to do at this point." We've been at this for nearly three hours, now."

Instead of answering, Natasha walks to the corner of the room where some folding chairs are stacked. She comes back with two. She takes her time arranging them, and then gracefully perches at the edge of her seat, crossing her black, leather-clad legs at the ankles. She gestures at Diana to follow suit. Diana sits back in her chair, crosses her arms, and scowls. "I was just telling Mr. Nyx that I am a very patient woman. I can certainly wait a while longer for him to talk, now that we're comfortable," she says as casually as she can manage.

"Then let's just talk," Natasha replies. She doesn't even look at Nyx. Nyx stares at the two women with open curiosity. "I think we need to get to know our friend a little better, anyway. I mean, he's been locked up here with no one to talk to except the occasional bullying military interrogator all this time." She turns to Nyx and smiles up at him. To Diana, Natasha's expression appears genuinely warm. She's slightly ashamed that she hadn't even thought to appeal to Nyx's more basic, everyday humanity, versus his ethics. Natasha says, "Tell me, Mr. Nyx, what was your name before you signed on with Concordance? Where are you from?"

Nyx laughs, but Diana detects a hint of nervousness beneath the response. His laughter is slightly off-pitch, a half-octave too high. "I was of no consequence whatsoever until Mr. Backus and Eris found me," he replies.

"You must have been important to someone," Natasha coaxes. What about your family? Your mother? Do you have a wife or significant other who might be worried about you?" Again Diana feels a small knot in her gut. She should have thought of this. Of course Nyx had another life once. How insensitive was she to not ask after his loved ones? She fights down a sudden urge to pray to Aphrodite for the transgression. Love transforms even those who have performed the most atrocious of deeds.

"Whom should we contact?" Natasha continues. Clearly, Natasha noticed something vital about Nyx's body language. "You keep playing with your left ring finger. Are you still married? Has Mr. Backus assured you of your partner's safety in the upcoming war?"

"She's not important!" Nyx shouts. His skin turns a sickening hue of light green as he hurls himself at the force field. He slams his entire body into it and pounds at the wall of energy with his fists. "Go to Hell, both of you!"

Natasha uncrosses her ankles and leans forward, resting her forearms on her thighs and interlacing her fingers. "I think she's very important to you," she replies sympathetically. Give me her name. We can make sure she comes through this unharmed. Do you have children as well?"

"You can do NOTHING for her!" he bellows. His voice is at fever pitch. She will ascend to the Realm of the Ancients! Nyx Herself will protect her!  
He turns deep green—almost black. His eyes roll back in his head. His knees buckle, and he crashes to the floor in a heap. Instinctively, Diana leaps to the control panel outside the cell and turns off the force field. She kneels next to the unconscious man and places two fingers at the side of his neck. Before Natasha can react, the man grabs both Diana's arms and flips her onto her belly. He pins her wrists behind her and kneels next to her. He presses one knee into her kidneys.

Natasha leaps toward him. Still grasping both Diana's wrists in one hand, Nyx extends the other out towards Natasha and repels her with an invisible force. She flies backward and slams into the wall of stacked folding chairs. They topple over and around her as she thumps into them. When Nyx speaks again, a woman's voice echoes through the room. "Hippolyta would be so disappointed in you, Princess."

Diana knows that the Goddess of Darkness and Night, Herself has embodied this poor, misguided man. "Let him go," she pleads, squirming beneath the body inhabited by Nyx.

The goddess roars with laughter that makes Diana's skin prickle. "By right I should strike him down for his indiscretion and weakness," she states. "But as it is, I need him, and I've promised you to my daughter, Eris and then to my son in turn. You remember Phanes, don't you Princess?"

Diana grunts in reply as she tries to rock Nyx off of her.

"Besides, I've invested too much effort into this mortal to release him now. I've promised him power…we'll see."

The gloating is too much. Plus, although she hears her groan, Diana is unsure of whether Natasha has been harmed. She jerks herself backward, knocking Nyx off balance. Diana lays on her back for a moment and braces herself, drawing her arms and knees toward her torso. When Nyx dives onto her, she easily repels her, throwing her several feet across the room. Both Nyx and Diana spring to their feet. Nyx's eyes turn pure black. He gestures into the air, and suddenly, the man inhabited by a dark goddess vanishes.


	38. Chapter 38

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p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Zola frowns. "If you kill me, which I know you won't, you'll never have your answers, dear boy." The voice is exactly the same as Red Skull's as if Red Skull were talking through Zola. When he locks eyes with Zola, Steve feels dizzy. Then he boards the SHIELD military personnel carrier in Omaha. The riots were worse than ever: utter chaos, except there was no end game, and there were no apparent sides. The combination of drought plus the high temperature in Omaha this early in the spring had surprised him. Waves of humanity furiously pounded, kicked and sometimes stabbed or shot at each other. They'd fought a battle with no clear enemy. Hurting civilians was never a good option…and it was so hot. When they got back to the plane, all any of them wanted to do was collapse into their uncomfortable seats and sleep. He remembers the clang of his shield startling him awake when it fell from the overhead shelf./p  
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p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Dry heat explodes from inside Steve's head, searing his eyes from deep behind their sockets. He drops to his knees, letting his weapon fall to the cement floor. He presses his gloved hands into his face. His muscles go limp. "What'd you do to me?" he demands into his palms. His words slur. Everything happens at once after that. What sounds like dozens of jackboots clamor down the basement stairs and echo through the cavernous room. Tony's repulsor blasts seem to ricochet from the walls. Steve senses their blinding light even through his covered eyes. He forces himself up and spins unsteadily on his heel. With the momentum he gains from this movement, he charges Red Skull, getting close enough to ram his fist into his jugular. Red Skull *should* at least stagger back from the impact, but instead he stands there with that annoying grin. Taking advantage of Steve's confusion, Red Skull steps forward and presses his ungloved fingers to Steve's temples and brow. Steve staggers sideways, overcome with vertigo. Around him, people and objects crash to the floor. Then he crumbles to the ground as well. He feels strong arms, Red Skull's, scoop him from behind at the armpits and drag him across the room. The heat in his head radiates down his torso. "The mission," he murmurs. "Got to save Bucky. Got to save that girl. C'mon Captain Rogers, get up and lead the troops." Why is nothing working against his enemy? Was it something Zola concocted that's making Red Skull invulnerable? "Where's Zola?" he demands as Red Skull drags him. The question comes out as a hoarse whisper. He feels the impact of something dense hitting just above him. It's enough to stir him out of his stupor as Thor's hammer knocks Red Skull to the ground./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;" /p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Still shaken, Steve pauses to get his bearings amidst the violence and chaos in this basement. Where ARE they? What year is this? How does he know these strangely dressed men, again? He scoops up his shield and leaps to his feet. Shield. SHIELD. Right. Then why are they somewhere in Europe during the War? He hurls himself shield-first toward Red Skull just as Red Skull shakes off the concussive effects of Mjolnir to the right temple. The impact of Steve's weight and strength at close range discharges from the light metal against Red Skull's face. Steve's hand, arm and torso vibrate and go numb for a moment./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;" /p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"When Steve lifts his shield from its target, Red Skull is not himself anymore. He is a handsome, dark-haired man wearing the kind of tunic he's seen on Ancient Greek statues in museum exhibits. In fact, this man is the only enemy in the room. It is quiet. The Nazi troops and Doctor Zola have vanished. He crouches over the unconscious man and then looks up at his equally confused companions. "There was a mission," Steve begins to explain. "We had to retrieve an asset that could decide the War. I think it might've been a person… a girl. Red Skull…" he trails off and peers down at his prisoner The man is not on the floor anymore./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;" /p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Tony clears his throat. "Cap?" Thor steps forward and offers his hand to Steve. Back on his feet, he turns his gaze to the far corner of the basement where the young woman had been. She isn't there anymore, but the man in the tunic leans casually against the open cell door. "You again," he growls at Phanes. Phanes nods and gives a slight bow. "We wanted your journey to be if not pleasant, then at least familiar. I do hope I got all the details right. Eris and Nyx, my mother, were very specific." Steve, Thor and Tony charge toward the god. Phanes spins on his heels and runs into the empty cell. The three men rush the cell. At the point where they brace themselves to blast through the metal bars, the world spins. Again, Steve experiences vertigo. For just a moment, the ground whips itself upside-down and sideways. They stumble onto wet sand. The sky is gray. All around them is beach and ocean. There is no breeze. In the far distance are the ruins of a temple./p 


	39. Chapter 39

The first thing Diana notices is that this floor of the building is freezing cold. She shivers. In an instant, Bruce drapes his jacket over her bare shoulders. She slips it back off, letting it fall to the floor behind her. "Now is not the time," she says under her breath, irritated. The headquarters of the Concordance Group had been hidden in plain sight in an unremarkable skyscraper in Downtown Manhattan. This is the earthbound center of the Dionysian cult about to explode into the world. The top floor is not in the city's records. It is legally invisible. That isn't the only thing wrong, though. It is early afternoon in the busiest city in the world. The offices should be full and busy. In the reception area though, all Diana can hear is the hum of the air conditioner. The reception desk, situated in front of a glass wall overlooking the East River, is empty.

Natasha and Clint seem to agree. "Okay, where is everybody," Natasha asks, although it comes out as a statement. The four of them face outward from the desk, forming a semicircle. Diana feels the back of her neck go icy.

"I've been waiting for you, Princess." The voice is the personification of disquiet and it comes from behind her as if through the glass wall. The heroes spin around to face a man with a dark, neatly trimmed beard. He is wearing thin-wired glasses and a very well-tailored suit.

"Moros," Diana says, more by way of explanation to her colleagues than an introduction. "Avengers, meet the God of Inevitable Doom."

"You must be the life of every party," Bruce says to him, unsmiling. From the corner of her eye, Diana sees him clench and unclench his fists. She notices he's slowed his breath_. He's trying to maintain control_, she thinks, relieved.

Moros laughs. "I'm so glad you're here, too," he tells Bruce. Mr. Backus will be pleased to meet you in person. Nyx has told him so much about you." He looks in turn at Natasha, Clint, and Diana. "The rest of you are just good for morale," he says.

Diana shifts a little, stepping one foot forward, bending her knees slightly. Her abdominal muscles tighten and her hands ball into fists. "Take me, let everyone else go," she demands. "This is between the gods."

Moros doesn't answer. Half-dozen men in security uniforms rush into the room. Moros leaps past the desk, directly toward Diana. He knocks her to the ground and she curls her limbs into her torso, repelling him. He's fast. She doesn't have time to get to her feet before he leaps toward her again, but she rolls aside and he misses her. He rolls toward her and sweeps a leg between hers, causing her to lose her equilibrium even on the ground. He pins her right arm to the ground and straddles her for the final blow. She shoves the heel of her left palm into his sternum, winding him. She uses the break to disentangle herself and leap to her feet.

In the background, she hears her friends making quick work of the mercenaries. The fight could have been worse. She grabs for her lasso. Just as she begins to unfasten it from her belt though, gunshots ring out from the reception entrance.

"EVERYBODY FREEZE! POLICE," a man yells! Without waiting, three officers storm in. The combination of shouts and gun shots fired in close quarters is disorienting, and once again, Diana feels Moros' weight as she falls backward, hitting the back of her head on the edge of the reception desk as she goes down. She lands with a thud. For a moment, her vision doubles and she isn't sure which Moros to fight. He uses her confusion as an opportunity, pinning both her wrists past her head. She hears another shot. Natasha yells out in pain. It's enough to snap her vision into focus again. She sweeps her legs around Moros and uses all of her strength to flip him onto his belly. Straddling his back, she grabs her lasso. She uses the long end to bind his hands behind him. Then she flips him over and places the loop around his neck.

"So, what's inevitable now," she tells Moros, "is that you show me where to find Nyx and Eris." She'd thought they were so close. She really had thought she'd confront Nyx, and perhaps Mr. Backus Himself today. In the background, things have gone quiet. She hears Clint tending to Natasha's wound. Several men, police officers and mercenaries, moan. "I'm through with this ridiculous war for dominion over mortals," she informs Moros. "And on top of that, I want my life with my husband back. This ends now. Take me to Dionysus." She tightens the loop around his neck.

_Tug the rope a little tighter, and everything changes_, Diana thinks. She slides her hand closer to where her lasso loops around Moros' neck, just below his jugular. This would be a message for Nyx, Eris, and maybe Dionysus Himself. She could permanently maim a lesser god to gain an audience with an Olympian. She could force a confrontation that would end this nightmare on Earth. She could bring all of them to justice. The cost would be her soul. She is on the cusp of completely finished with the children of Nyx. She feels the rage and frustration of having been through a war that's gone for far too long. She hasn't felt this angry since that moment in the War when she'd lost control. Remembering this, she sends up a brief prayer to Athena: _ Grant me the wisdom_. She narrows her eyes and inhales sharply.

Moros grins in spite of the fact that his face is turning the same shade of pale blue as his expensive-looking necktie. "Prove our point for us, Princess. You're more like us than you think."

Instead, she brings back her fist and slams it into his nose. He yelps with surprise, then laughs while she unwinds the lasso from his neck. Blood trickles down his cheek and under his white collar, ruining the clean lines of his suit.

She hears Bruce groan somewhere behind her. She feels relief that he hasn't changed. _Everything is about to change though_, she thinks again. "We are going to end this," she growls at the god of dread.

"Oh, indeed!" he agrees, grinning widely.

Something hard makes contact with the back of her head. The room shudders around her.

When she opens her eyes again, she is on her back, looking at a cloudless gray sky. She props herself up on her forearms. Natasha is a few feet away, just out of the tide's reach. Clint is a yard or so further down the shore. Both press themselves up from the ground as they regain consciousness. _I know this place_.

Before she can register anything else, she feels a hand on her shoulder. She stiffens, ready to fight again, and then softens when she hears Bruce ask, "Are you okay? Where are we?"

She reaches behind and gives his hand a squeeze. When she stands up, she manages a smile. "We're in the space between the Ancient World and Olympus," she tells him. "This is where everything is going to change. It's almost over," she says. It's the only truthful thing she can think to say with as little foreboding as possible.

Instead of answering, Bruce walks off toward the colorless sea. He sits at the water's edge, letting the tide creep under and between his feet. Diana joins him and sits down. "If we're fighting your gods, this can end very badly," he starts.

Diana looks at him and nods.

"You might not…I mean, Steve…" he trails off, seemingly unable to formulate the thought completely.

Diana looks at her friend and sighs. His face is taut, and small lines creep from the outer corners of his eyes. He swallows hard a couple of times but doesn't try to finish his sentence. She knows what he's trying to say, though. She turns to face him.

"Bruce, look at me."

He shifts around and faces her. The tips of their toes touch. She reaches forward and places her palm on his cheek. With her thumb, she wipes away a tear that's begun to make its way down his face.

"It was never a contest between you and him," she says as gently as she can. She didn't want this conversation. If Moros had any power in her life, ever, it manifested in her dread of this unavoidable moment. She was about to say things that would break the heart of one of her best friends. "It was always Steve. I love Steve. I've loved him for two lifetimes and we will be together even after we are both dead. Hades Himself has granted us this."

She watches his face as he processes the information. He looks broken, as if some part of him has cracked open. She wishes she could fix it. She could make him feel better for a little while. She could will him to feel at ease, but she knows nothing will mend him but, perhaps, time. Instead of ameliorating her friend's pain, she continues.

"If I hadn't met Steve again in this lifetime, I still don't think I would have loved you the same way you love me. You are my dear friend; you are an anchor to me. You deserve to be with someone who loves you deeply in ways that I do not."

He is shaking now, and tears flow. Diana takes her hand from his face and holds his hand tightly. Looking past him, she sees Natasha and Clint make their way toward them. "It's time," she whispers. She helps him to his feet.

When their companions arrive, Clint points out three sets of men's footprints. They head toward the ruins of two buildings. "The twin temples of Artemis and Apollo," Diana tells them. "Steve, Tony and Thor are almost there." She drops Bruce's hand and walks ahead of the group. Striding out in the direction of the prints, she says, "This is where it ends. Everything changes now."


	40. Chapter 40

The clash of metal and shouts battle cut through rising dust as the team ascends the last hill. From the apex, they watch Thor and Tony grapple with three or four demigods each. Diana recognizes all of them as sons and daughters of the Goddess of Night. Vines wind snakelike from between cracks in the marble floor and slither over and through the ruined columns and altars of Apollo. The fight has centered at the feet of Apollo's cracked twenty-foot statue. A small, open-air vestibule leads to the altar and statue of Artemis, which Diana recognizes from the last time she was in this place. The four of them run into the melee. When she spots Phanes and Nyx, who still embodies a mortal man, she leaps upward and flies. The two gods have pinned Steve to the marble floor near Apollo's enormous foot. Steve's shield lies dented several feet away. As he struggles to break free from the gods' grasp, Eris prepares to plunge her sword into his chest. Diana slides from the sky, feet-first, into Eris' shins, knocking her into a low table. It cracks in two and Eris falls on her back, causing a mist of dust and dirt to rise up. Steve takes advantage of the confusion and lurches forward, slamming both gods' heads into one another. He breaks free, then dives for his shield. The gods give chase.

Eris to get to her feet. "Let's finish this," Diana snarls. She takes a few steps backward, toward the vestibule which leads to her patron goddess.

Eris grabs her sword and glares at Diana. Then she lunges toward her. Diana leaps backward and smiles. "Come and get me," Diana teases. Eris is unrelenting and fast. She leaps aside and then forward. Diana barely has time to swerve from the tip of Eris' blade. She swerves and jumps back. Eris pursues, this time leaping straight forward, closing the distance between her body and Diana's. Diana ducks and Eris misses her. A tangle of vines falls on top of Diana, ensnaring her.

"Not quite your SHIELD gymnasium here," Eris growls. "You are in my domain now, and you are going to die, Princess." She wields the sword over her shoulders it whizzes down toward Diana's shoulder. The air slashes across her ear. She lunges sideways but falls in the knotted vegetation at her feet. Hot pain sears through her shoulder where Eris made contact, and she shouts out in surprise. She jumps to her feet and leaps backward again.

##

Meanwhile, Steve has heard Diana's shout. Remembering the outcome of Diana's last fight with Eris, his heart rate seems to quadruple. He rushes at Phanes with his shield and smashes it into Phanes' right arm. Phanes drops his sword and falls backward. He curls his arms and legs into his chest, ready to repel Steve. Steve has no time to wrestle, though. He has to end this and help Diana. Before he can grab the sword, Nyx tackles him from behind and Phanes leaps to his feet. Steve is furious. As Phanes runs at him, Steve sweeps his legs out. Nyx loses his grip on Steve and stumbles back while Phanes falls backward into a pile of marble arrows from the statue of Apollo's bow. Blood seeps from beneath his head. The body turns pale, then shudders, then goes still. Steve spins on his heels, ready to face off with Nyx.

##

"That. Hurt." Diana glowers at her enemy. Eris smirks and runs forward as she slashes at Diana. Diana feints and keeps the two of them at sword's length. The sudden, jerky movements cause the scenery to blur. Dust and tiny marble shards prick at her wound and sting her eyes as she continues to fall back. She draws Eris further and further away from the rest of the battle, toward the partially demolished statue of Artemis.

This part of the holy site is in worse shape than that of Apollo. As she parries Eris' blows, she stumbles over jagged gravel and slippery stone shards. The wound burns and throbs. A thousand needles prick past the open wound. She backs into a column. Eris bellows and rushes at her. Diana dives sideways, and onto the stone shards. Eris crashes into the column, causing it to fall backward, pinning Diana's arm to the ground. She feels the definitive snap of bone in her left forearm.

##

Even in the fray, Steve hears his wife cry out from across the two temples. He no longer cares about Nyx's sword. He slams his body into Nyx, but Nyx jumps backward and readies his stance, reestablishing the distance between them. It occurs to Steve that they could dance around like this all day. There is only one way to end this. He pretends to hesitate. Nyx charges.

##

On the other end of the site, Diana throws her weight into the column and rolls it off of her arm while Eris regains her balance. She can still move her arm; she's reasonably sure only one bone of is broken, not both. Gritting her teeth, she grabs a fist-sized chunk of marble in her right hand and waits. Eris hurls herself at Diana. This time, Diana jabs the marble into Eris' wrist, cutting it enough for her to scream and drop her sword. Diana jumps to her feet. Her entire arm protests and pushes back as she hoists the fallen column over her head. Then she smashes it over the sword, separating the blade from the hilt.

Eris looks as if there are daggers in her eyes. "I will kill you with my bare hands," she seethes. Diana backs up again. She raises her right arm defensively and steps back. Her right shoulder throbs and burns. Her left arm hangs uselessly at her side. Eris' expression is a combination of fury and gloating. Diana backs up further, luring Eris toward the base of Artemis's statue. She already knows what she will find there, and how to end her.

##

He allows the attack. He angles his body so that the sword will slash through his arm, yes, but finally, Nyx will be close enough for Steve to get his hands on him. Thunder blasts from across the temple and the ground shakes. A woman screams. He jerks his head around, pivoting slightly. There is blinding hot pain between his lower right ribs, then the throbbing begins. Nyx is close. They are connected by his sword. He falls onto the splintery rubble when the sword withdraws.

##

Eris pursues Diana all the way to the base of the statue. The vines grow thick here. Sculpted silver arrows poke upwards from the vegetation. Diana deliberately stumbles and falls between weeds and weapons. Pain shoots up her arm and into her head. For a moment, the sensation blinds her. Eris must be tired as well; she would have killed her by now, otherwise. Only a second passes before Eris hurls herself over Diana's supine body. She looks surprised, then angry. Between the two women, one of Artemis' arrows punctures Eris through the abdomen and past her spine. Eris' eyes open wide. Diana hadn't noticed before that without the hardness and hatred, they are terribly afraid and as green as the Elysian Fields themselves. She sends a prayer of thanks to her guardian goddess as Eris fades away. She prays on Eris' behalf to Hera for mercy. From Apollo's end of the temple, she hears her colleagues shriek Steve's name in unison. She lifts off to fly but falls. Her wounds are too deep and too severe. She runs toward her friends, toward Steve, as fast as she can.

##

Steve can't move. Nyx looms over him, only it isn't the Nyx he remembers. A woman with silver hair and a tunic that makes him think of absolute night hoists her sword above his chest. Diana screams his name in the distance. He recognizes the battle fury in her voice. He tries to call out, but something warm and metallic fills his mouth and coats his tongue. There's so much to say. Too late. Nyx circles the point of her sword over him like a pendulum. She's taking her time. What is she waiting for? Diana. She's waiting for Diana so she can watch them die together. Diana will come to him. He swallows hard and senses thick blood and mucous slide down his throat. She will follow him to the afterlife by arrangement, just as he gasps his last breath. He understands now that Nyx was always aware of this fact. If she kills him, Diana dies too. Stupid, stubborn woman, he thinks, shutting his eyes. And she says his romantic gestures are sometimes over the top. But they all knew this was a trap, going in. He'd wanted their life together to be longer than this. He thinks of a prophesy she showed him a few months ago, just after their wedding. There were children. There was old age. Will there even be a world worth living in? Have they lost? He opens his eyes and awaits the inevitable.

##

She might as well run knee-deep through quicksand. The time to close the distance between Steve and herself should be a few seconds. Each step sucks her deeper into the earth, into some crack that leads to Hades Himself. She doesn't see him, though. She sees Nyx's back. Nyx has discarded her human shell, but Diana does not have the time or strength to mourn that poor, foolish mortal who wanted to be a god. Nyx's arms are raised. The apple of the sword extends back and Diana screams Steve's name again.

##

The blade whooshes down, but nothing happens. Something heavy thuds next to him and the ground trembles. Diana shouts, "NO!" He tries to turn his head; in his periphery he sees an enormous green and red lump. The Hulk lies prone. An enormous blade pokes out from his back. Red tributaries stream from its source, gushing down the lines of his muscles. "Oh no," he thinks. He again tries to speak, but the blood gurgles in his mouth. Underneath The Hulk is another body—a woman in black. There are dark blue boots next to the two bodies. A hand reaches down and grabs Nyx by the scruff of the neck. The Hulk's limp body plunks another few inches into the crumbling floor. It begins to transform.

"Diana stop!" Clint yells. Something heavy thuds rhythmically against a pillar. Natasha comes behind him and props him in her lap. Next to him, Tony says, "I'm gonna get that wound staunched. This is gonna hurt." And it does. Heat from Tony's suit sears through his back. Sitting propped up hurts. But what holds his attention are Diana and Nyx. Diana is holding Nyx above her by the neck and pounding her against Apollo's gigantic shin. He wants to stop her. He tries to move his hand, but Natasha gently presses it down to his side. "Stay still," she tells him. She sounds sad.

"Princess! It is not your place to pronounce judgment! Leave her to your gods," Thor implores. Diana ignores him. She lifts Nyx's unconscious form high above her head. As she sends her plunging downward for the death blow, Apollo's huge, pink marble hand falls to the ground, catching her. Steve thinks of a baseball landing smack into a glove, a perfectly thwarted home run. This Steve Rogers' last coherent thought before awakening in SHIELD's infirmary.


	41. Chapter 41

Six Weeks Later…

Diana stares out at the beach below their room. Steve puts his hand on her shoulder. Together, they watch the waves creep up to the empty shoreline and recede into dark water. Minutes go by. He knows this because he occasionally stares past the ocean, back to Diana's reflection. Her shoulders, throat and face are pale against the night sky. He lets his gaze recede through the glass reflection to the blinking digital clock on the nightstand by the bed. It is well past two a.m.. He refocuses on their reflection. The fading scar winds along his lower left ribs like an unruly vine. Its bumpy relief of stitches feels like thorns every time he stretches the wrong way. They are reminders of the friend they could not save. He still occasionally feels a sharp twinge, deep past his lungs. He feels it now as his breath catches slightly. "We'll find him," he states for the hundredth time in more than a month. His voice hitches slightly. They don't need this conversation again. It is no one's fault; if Bruce is still in between Olympus and Earth, he will heal, and the gods will send him home when they are ready…maybe. Diana has assured everyone that Nyx and her children will receive their punishments, that Olympus surely has no need for The Hulk. The gods will deliver him back to them. Or he could never come home, Steve thinks, again. They all woke up three days later in the empty office space that half the team swore just below The Concordance Group's floor. Bruce wasn't with them. There was no floor above the one on which they were found. Tony called in every favor; SHIELD used every resource; Thor, to his knowledge, is still searching the Realms. Everyone searched for Bruce except for him and Diana. Even after Diana healed, she stayed with him those three weeks it took for his organs and bones to reassemble themselves. He squeezes her shoulder and lays down on the bed. "Come to bed, Diana." He does his best to keep emotion from his voice. "Get some rest."

She turns and looks at him. Not for the first time, she reminds him of one of those statues of Aphrodite come to life—her nakedness isn't quite real. He imagines her as pink marble, like the statues of Apollo and Artemis in the in-between world. Sometimes lately, he dreams of cracks creeping through the perfect stone sculpture of his wife. He misses the assurance that her flesh is soft. He misses his wife. She looks directly at him and walks to the bed with absolutely no intention of communication. She just comes to the bed and climbs in on her side. They lay there like that, him on his back, his hands folded behind his head, her with her back to him. He knows this will pass. They've both taken physical and emotional beatings. He knows she blames herself for not getting to him in time; she knows he blames himself for being too distracted to fight properly. Bruce saved him to save Diana. He's not sure there are any heroes in this story.

He does know that they go through the motions most nights, like they're about to now. He rolls toward her, puts one hand over her hip and pushes her hair away from her neck. He says, "Is this okay?" It's how they always seem to start, these past weeks. She reaches around and takes his hand from her hip, interlaces her fingers between his, the way she does lately. He's been especially gentle, partly because of her injuries and partly because of his. Physically, they're fine, though. At least she is, anyway. They move their fingertips across one another's jaw lines, lips, and palms, like they have been doing. It's become a practiced choreography. She doesn't turn around, but she stretches out her top leg and curls the bottom knee into her chest. He kisses the hollow space in the back of her neck, and she sighs in that way that tells him to keep going. He moves his mouth between her shoulder blades and uses their interlaced hands, his large, warm palm over the back of her cool, delicate fingers, to just below her navel and they position themselves together the way they usually do now. Afterwards, she turns to him and tells him she loves him, like she always does. He knows she means it. She kisses him as hard as she can, as if she's trying to find something. She closes her eyes and breathes slowly. He knows she's pretending to sleep. He's sure she knows she isn't fooling him. He gets up anyway, pulls on his shorts and takes the stairs down to the hotel's back entrance, and walks to the beach.

He doesn't think about anything. Instead, he focuses on the warm, dry sand that sinks between his toes with each step. He listens to the waves lap against the shore and feels the damp, grainy mist on his bare arms and chest. The salt makes the scars from his newly-removed stitches itch and sting slightly. Images shove themselves in front of his mind's eye from time to time: Diana's bloody body the first time Eris nearly killed her, the sound of Diana's cries in the throes of passion. He remembers the gigantic marble fingers of Apollo closing around the goddess Nyx in an angry fist, just before he passed out from blood loss and pain. He stops and shakes his head, willing the pictures and sounds to move on. He stares out at the half-moon on the horizon. It is late June. His birthday is coming up. He'll be ninety-eight. In his wife's lifetime, he's barely a toddler. The thought of toddlers makes him continue to walk. He doesn't want his thoughts to go down that particular path.  
Nevertheless, he remembers that evening on the beach during their honeymoon, when a normal life seemed in the cards. How are they going to get through this? He bends down to pick up a large piece of driftwood and hurls it as far as he can into the ocean. "What the HELL am I supposed to do," he yells out to…he's not even sure who or what?

"Hold my hand and come back to me," Diana answers from behind him. He turns around, slightly startled. He can tell she's been running to catch up with him. Her cheeks are slightly flushed, her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail and her t-shirt is inside-out. He's never seen her look more beautiful. She extends her hand and takes a tentative step forward, and he can tell she's been crying. He takes two giant steps to meet her, grabs her hand and pulls her close.


End file.
